


Doll House

by Malice_and_Macarons



Series: Monochrome Universe [1]
Category: DCU, The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bad Parenting, Barry deserves better than this, Foster Care, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Multi, Psychological Torture, Slow Build, Unrequited Love, mixed universes, rogues - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 116,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malice_and_Macarons/pseuds/Malice_and_Macarons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry tries, he really does. But between an uncooperative ward, a string of murders and a very absent Hal Jordan - Barry is having a bit of difficulty in staying optimistic. He's doubting himself and like an easily exploitable weakness, Barry gets scooped up and dumped into a nightmare house by someone who - by all rights - should not exist. Can't let himself be late this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disagreements

**Author's Note:**

> I have sinned.  
> Now this is born.
> 
> This fic is the first of a probable group of fics I'll write about the little fan universe I have.  
> This is just a quick intro, that I'll probably re-write a few times. Still getting used to DC fics.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sinning continues.
> 
> This also needs a re-write sometime soon. When my head is on straight.

“You’re going to be late!”  
The soundtrack of his life summed up in five words.

That morning was not unlike any other morning in Central City. The sun was up, people were on the move and Barry Allen was ten minutes behind schedule – one sock clumsily stuck on, with a piece of toast jammed in his mouth. Toast supplied to him by a none too pleasant housemate that was currently looking at Barry like something he’d just stepped in on the side of the road.

“Would it kill you to try getting up on time? An alarm clock that actually works might not be that bad of an idea.” Noire sighed, one hand on his hip and the other clutching a saucepan that looked like it had the food of the gods cooking in it. Or it could just be eggs, but it was too early in the morning to tell difference and Barry’s stomach was screaming for whatever was making that beautiful smell – so for now eggs would be considered food of the gods.

Noticing Barry’s very pointed stare at the food, Noire made a good show of rolling his eyes and gesturing to the dinning room table. “Go on then, get dressed properly and I’ll get that food in you.”

If Barry was smiling he moved too quick for Noire to see and rapidly he was throwing on whatever clothes were both clean and available to him. He was late sure, but Barry had more than enough speed to make up for it – and it was knowing this that probably made him late all the time. Too comfortable, cocky, overconfident – all ways used to describe Barry Allen by a few choice people. Namely Bruce.

It was barely three seconds after Noire had finished speaking that Barry was back downstairs and in the familiar chair by the table, waiting expectantly for his breakfast. The chair rocked back and forth shakily as it tried to compensate for the abrupt why Barry threw himself into it, thankfully it didn’t just topple over right then and there.

“If you eat that fast.” Noire said, eyeing Barry warningly as he set down the plate of familiar foods in front of his caretaker. “I’ll burn it next time.” He probably would keep true to that threat as well. Noire wasn’t a massive fan of speed around the house, which was fine because Barry knew he made an effort not to float around the house either so fair was fair.

Barry tried to give Noire what he hoped was an innocent smile but as usual his ward didn’t look the slightest bit swayed by the expression. Instead the younger man went about cleaning up after breakfast. Barry felt the familiar urge to request Noire sit down and eat thing him, but knew it would be a wasted effort.

Sometimes it troubled Barry to know that no matter how hard he tried to act like a big brother or even a father to the boy that had spent most of his life under this roof – there were just some things they’d never share. The need to eat and sleep regularly for example, or their different opinion on where it was acceptable to make a nest. Thankfully after some debate Noire had given up trying to nest on the roof, it had been an interesting fight, one Barry wasn’t keen on revisiting.

However, Barry had managed to find some things he could help Noire with – to help him play the role of guardian properly.

“What’s your schedule for today, Noire?” Barry asked, trying to find the correct balance of speaking and eating without prompting Noire’s wrath if he accidentally did both. “School? Work?”

Perhaps he was a little too enthusiastic with his questioning because Noire stopped what he was doing and shot him a scathing look, in the past that would have concerned him more but Barry reasoned that it was just Noire’s way of showing love now days. Obviously the question didn’t irritate him too much because the touchy kid finally let out a sigh and straightened up to answer.

“I have a class today and then I’m going to the work site.” Barry was pretty happy to hear both of those things. It meant that Noire was keeping himself well away from anything crime related and interacting with other people like a normal kid. Perfect.

His job was more volunteering than anything else but he’d been able to make a little bit of money by helping out at the construction site – all of which he thrust at Barry the second he was given it. Noire seemed intent on paying Barry back for the cost of feeding him everyday – even if Barry tried to refuse it Noire had it ways of getting the money to Barry. Usually he’d slip it into Barry’s wallet or back pocket without telling him.

“Wipe that look off your face!” Noire snapped at him, finding Barry’s expression to be infuriatingly smug and it made his ears burn. “Eat your bloody food and get to your own day job. You have ten minutes before you’re late.”

“I don’t remember when or why we swapped roles.” Barry mused, wondering why exactly Noire acted more like the adult than he did most of the time, or maybe it was just that Noire was always incredibly grouchy – just made him look older. 

“Get going.” Noire insisted, gesturing to the door again and this time Barry swore that the kid was smiling – but only a little bit. 

Barry responded in kind, flashing Noire the brightest smile he could muster before finishing off his breakfast. Barry left much the way he’d come, in a mad rush with the last piece of bread still hanging out of his mouth, but for once Barry felt like he was going to be on time.

He was wrong.

Stumbling through the doors of the police station, Barry barely managed to avoid running right into one of the officers. The trip over barely took a few minutes even if he had been distracted by a mugging that required a five-minute fix – including borrowed handcuffs and dropping off the mugger in front of a police car. Nothing major, but enough to slow him down that little bit, add that to the pit stop he made in at Jitters before getting to the station and that completely drained his ten minutes of wiggle room.

“Allen.” Barry knew that voice and the way that it was saying his name wasn’t exactly encouraging.

Brandishing a tray of coffees and a sorry smile, Barry turned to face director Singh with the most hopeful of peace offerings. Singh looked about as forgiving with Barry’s tardiness as Noire did with Barry’s speed.

“Late.” Singh growled flatly. “ _Again_.” The director gave Barry the once over, taking in the extra cups of coffee with a knowing stare. As if to try and further give up his offerings, Barry raised the tray with the same hopeful smile.  Singh eyed Barry for a few more seconds before finally letting loose a heavy sigh and accepting the peace offering.

And so Barry Allen kept his job in the Central City Police Force for another day.  
All down to the miracle that was Jitter’s coffee. 

“We got another crime scene to add to the pile today, Allen.” Singh kicked into work mode and began listing off the specifics of todays work while Barry gave out the few other coffees he brought with him on the way to his workspace. One for Forrest, another for Spivot and finally one for Captain Frye.

For every coffee cup he set down, Barry gained another file or evidence folder. By the time he’d reached his desk, Barry had a pile of different types of evidence dumped in front of him and even more expectations from Singh.

Barry was positive that he could beat those expectations given the correct amount of room to work with. Unfortunately there was never enough room when it came to the police station, not to get up the speed he needed anyway.

The crime scene that Singh had left on his desk that morning was at the very least merciful in how obvious the answers were. A few tests to verify his theories and Barry felt certain that they’d have the criminal caught and his desk clear for a few more things within a few hours. But even as Barry sat there, going through the motions of paperwork and proving theories that could become leads somewhere down the track, his mind was a thousand years away.

A quick glance up at the cellphone on his desk reminded Barry that no matter how many times he tried to get into contact with Hal – when he was off planet it was effective radio silence. He seemed to be off planet a lot lately and Barry only had a vague idea what was going on in the green lanterns intergalactic battles.

Small snippets were given to him in the moments Hal would confide in him. Sinestro’s betrayal and the creation of his corps, the mutual hatred for yellow they’d come to share. But most of what happened off planet stayed with Hal and the other green lanterns, leaving the scarlet speedster to feel a little out of the loop. 

Which wouldn’t be such a bother if it weren’t for the fact that Hal seemed to be struggling with something he could never full explain, which not only made Barry feel left out but it made him a lousy friend as well.

Not that Hal was much better; he never picked up his damn phone anymore.

Not too many months ago he and Hal had been inseparable, he could rely on his friend to appear whenever he called him. In hindsight maybe he hadn’t been grateful enough for that attentive behavior, without it Barry felt a rather noticeable hole in his life. 

“Nothing I can’t deal with.” Barry reasoned under his breath while flicking through another set of reports. These ones were a little more troubling, a double homicide. The only save grace with the case was that it was very obviously not done by a super villain of any kind; just the regular old murders and thieves.

When did that become a comforting thought? Barry bit back a sigh, he had to keep on smiling and getting work done with a jump in his step. If he stopped being the high note of the day, than who would bring at least a little light heartedness to the increasingly difficult slug? Even Hal seemed to be worried that something was looming in the distance with his fellow lanterns. What that was exactly, no one seemed sure and the guardians didn’t seem to be much help.

Really it was a whole lot of nothing to deal with in the end, just some sense that something, somewhere at some point was going to happen. It didn’t get much vaguer than that – thanks for the heads up.

Pushing all Flash problems to the back of his mind, Barry tried his damndest to focus on his day job at least for a few hours. Working with the police was just as rewarding as being the Flash, he just needed to solve cases where he could and keep the city a safer place. For a few productive hours Barry managed to avoid thinking about the League or his fly about friend – of course it was just when he was getting comfortable with this easy going pace that the world shifted gears.

“So Barry.” He jumped, honestly not having heard Patty walking up to his desk. “This has got to be a first.” She mused, draping one arm over the back of his chair and the other on her hip as she looked over his work with an amused smile. “Five hours of solid work – no sudden errands or disappearances. That is…unless you ducked out too quick for me to notice.” 

Barry laughed, mostly because he knew Patty was just toying with him. He barely noticed that she was half serious with that comment. “Today has been good.” He agreed wholeheartedly as he sat back in his seat to show Patty the files he’d spent the last hour combing through and sorting. A sense of pride washed over him, not because he’d done work though that certainly did help, but because he’d made it through the day mostly without even thinking about his Flash persona.

One day he planned to propose to Iris and when that day came he knew that it may eventually lead to hanging up his mask and settling down – to be a father. If that was ever going to happen he needed to practice just being Barry Allen for long periods of time. He never had to turn a blind eye to the wrong in the world, but maybe he could fight it as Barry

A glance at the clock brought a smile onto Barry’s face. It was nearing late afternoon now which mean Noire was probably at the local college, doing just as well as Barry in his attempt at normal life hopefully. If he kept up this good work at school and his part-time job, Barry was going to try and teach him how to drive – _that_ would be an event. A potentially life threatening event.

“Not bad, Red.” Patty praised him with a small clap on the back and a beaming smile. She could be a bit of a tough love sort of friend sometimes but when she saw real effort she never let it go by without proper recognition. “Lets keep up this streak for a week and then we’ll really have something to celebrate.”

“Right, a week without Central City needing saving. That’ll be the day.” God forbid even the Rogues stay quiet for more than a few days at a time. It was so much easier when they were working together, at least then Barry could round them up all in one swoop, rather than each picking an individual day to torment the city. Well Barry could dream. 

“Still no word from the out of town boy toy?” Patty asked, gesturing to the phone that had remained blissfully silent the past few hours. “Still run about?”

“Okay, first off, _not_ my boy toy and secondly…yes. Yes, you’re absolutely right, not a peep out of him.” Barry sighed, tossing his phone a dirty look like it was somehow the small piece of tech’s fault. Completely unfair but maybe he could text Hal his fury if he glared hard enough, an idea that his mind helpfully supplied was unrealistic.

“I’m sure he’s just--” Patty straightened up as Singh made his way over, clicking his tongue in agitation and probably completely unaware of his angry habit. A quick glance was tossed between Barry and Patty, a sort of wager on just what complaint was going to come out of him this time. Thankfully it wasn’t something related to either of their shortcomings, though Singh would certainly make time for that later as well.

“It’s another one.” He growled, flashing a familiar scene in front of Barry’s eyes as he threw down the photos he’d no doubt just gotten from a new crime scene. “Another one and we still have nothing!”

Barry felt his heart sink in his chest as he recognized this unnervingly familiar set up. While Singh voiced his grievances, Barry gathered up the photos and began sorting through them slowly, one of the few times he moved slowly in fact. It was like seeing a well-rehearsed play, everything down to the burn marks on the body was identical to the last crime of this nature.

The problem with these crimes was the lack of clues. No prints, no conceivable motive, nothing had been stolen or broken and there didn’t even seem to be a struggle – it was almost like the victim had just suddenly been struck down by the hand of god. Not a concept Barry put much faith in now days.

“That’s the fourth one in two months.” Singh sighed, having calmed down enough to turn his furious growls into simple exhaustion. “Same story as last time, no sign of forced entry and everything seems to be accounted for.”

“This shop is..?” Barry began to ask, gesturing to the photos that primarily focused on the corpse and the scene around the body.

“It’s a fabrics store.” Singh supplied dryly. That also matched the nature of these killings, never a bank or jewelry store, the first had been a toyshop, the second hadn’t even been in a store but instead a residential apartment and the third was a secondhand store. All four had all their valuables, stock and money exactly where it had been left the night before the killings. There was never a struggle either, no broken doors or dramatics. It really was like these people had just _dropped_.

Barry had asked around at first, tried to find a connection between the victims. A job, a hobby – hell he would have looked into it if they ended up having the same damn coffee for breakfast. But nothing stuck out to him. Their genders were varied, their homes distant and their lives all very different. Some invisible to the public, others well liked – none of their names seemed to come up in the same circles.

So here they had no motive or evidence to pin a subject, not so much as a whisper of anything out of the ordinary for the police to work with and not a shred of material for the forensic scientists to study. They had next to nothing. After a while even the body was no longer of use.

Whatever happened to the victims didn’t stop after death, the initial burn like marks didn’t change the way that Barry was used to seeing on burn victims. Instead it turned them white, not just burn area white, but whole body skin and internal organs all turned to an ash white. After that set in it wasn’t long before the bodies began to fall apart, crumbling like they were made of dust. Their insides dried up and turned to powder or a stone like substance – when Barry had been sent samples even those began to vanish after a while.

For a brief moment however he’d gotten some answers but they hardly helped. The analysis of the corpses after they turned full body white came back as…chalk. They’d literally become chalk. Of course this didn’t help much on the police’s end but for the Flash it meant a little bit more.

No one would have argued that this was the work of someone a little out of the police’s jurisdiction. Whether it was a new scheme from people like the Rogues – which didn’t actually fit their profile – or a new metahuman running around it didn’t matter – it was now the Flash’s area of work. 

The only problem was that Barry had a pretty good guess who was behind this and while that was troubling enough the appearance of another body meant…

Abruptly Barry shot from his seat, hands slamming down on the desk in his haste to get to the television.

“Allen, what the hell are you doing?” Singh was calling after him as Barry rushed to the little communal TV and began to fiddle with the buttons, just wishing for once technology would do what he wanted. How hard was it to find the news station? The television had a hundred different settings, and a thousand more channels; Barry only needed ten for pete’s sake!

“Last time we got one of these cases.” Patty filled in the empty air where Barry should have been answering Singh. “There was that little stir down town, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Singh mumbled thoughtfully. “With the two metahumans.” 

“And the time before that?” Patty prompted.

“Same thing.” The realization finally dawned on Singh and immediately a groan slipped out of his throat. “Oh christ…not again.”

Barry was having similar thoughts, except he was more worried than inconvenienced. Finally the television deemed his attempts worthy – or pitiful – enough to flick to the channel he’d been looking for and immediately Barry’s heart sank. 

There on the screen was a news report about the two familiar metahumans going at it in the streets of central city. There was no live footage but someone had snapped a picture of the two, a young man clothed from head to toe in white stood weightlessly in the air, arms crossed and waiting as the other metahuman seemed to be lining up a running punch.

“Again.” Patty confirmed with a grim nod of her head. “Monochrome Black and White – you’d think they’d get along being a pair like that.” She lamented with a roll of her shoulders just as another picture slid up behind the news reporters shoulder of the attacking metahuman, or ‘Black’ getting thrown halfway across the screen and into the ground – apparently the punch hadn’t worked out.

“Evidently not…” Patty continued with a weary sigh.

“I got to go.” Barry said rapidly, tearing away from the tv and his co-workers to rush to the door, tugging on his jacket clumsily as he did.

“What?” Singh barked, back to being angry. “What do you mean ‘go’? We have work to do _here,_ Allen!” 

“Yeah, yeah I know.” Barry struggled for an excuse even as he continued to back towards the exit. “But I…ah have a lead!” It was pathetic but perhaps not entirely a lie. “If I can get some sort of sample from the white one, maybe we could make a match.”

“To chalk?” Singh asked, unimpressed by Barry’s ‘lead’.

“They show up to brawl whenever a murder like this happens right, and the bodies turn white – so maybe they’re connected. I just need one sample.” With his excuses poorly made Barry shot out of the office as fast as he could humanly go before Singh could even finish reminding him he wasn’t a police officer and should stay in the lab. When he was outside of the building however he dropped the human part and took off at Flash speed. 

Along the way he released his suit from his ring and got changed, he couldn’t exactly show up to a metahuman fight as Barry Allen, sample collecting or not. More to the point he was one hundred percent certain that White was responsible for the deaths, he hardly felt the need to get a sample when White had his mark all over this one.

What worried Barry the most was that the two metahumans would tear each other apart and take parts of Central City with them before he had a chance to get between them. As he ran Barry realized he hadn’t actually got an exact location when he stared running but it wasn’t hard to find the two – just follow the shouting and trail of destruction.

It didn’t take long to find them when he employed that method. Barry came skidding to a halt when one of the two flew in front of him, having been knocked out of the sky by the other. Occasionally their habit of flying could be a problem, it was hard to run in midair okay? 

As the smaller of the two – Black – went flying past, Barry instinctively reached out to try and stop the other’s fall, only to get a blast of white-hot light in his direction. He managed to sidestep the attack but the heat that radiated off of the beam was warning enough not to get too close.

“Flash.” His name was called like a greeting more than a warning and he turned to send a scathing glare at the metahuman addressing him.

Monochrome White looked much like he had in the newscasts pictures. Still left hanging in the air by an unseen force, arms crossed neatly over his chest with a pleasant smile plastered on his face. “I don’t remember extending an invitation.”

Barry had seen other metahumans that barely resembled a human anymore but these two looked strikingly young and very much human, save for a few oddities in their appearance. Jutting out of White’s forehead and behind his ears were a set of horn like structures, they almost looked like a crown on his head. Black on the other hand had an almost dirty appearance, black smudges were just visible across the bridge of his nose and around his eyes from under his mask, it was like his skin was permanently scraped up.

The two gave off similar personas to match their appearances as well, White was undeniably regal in the way he conducted himself and Black was, well…

“I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking _kill_ you!” Black was screaming as he dragged himself up off the ground, angrily brushing rubble from his shoulders. White only smirked at the other’s passionate display and unlike the darker of the two figures, he had no mask to hide his mirth behind.

“Such language.” White cooed and raised his hand up again, small sparks of light beginning to bubble up around his palm and form into a solid ball. Barry recognized it as the beginnings of the attack that had almost burned him up when he arrived and with a shout of warning he ran at Black, planning to get him out of the way of the beam before it fried him.

Except White didn’t end up aiming for Black, instead he shot the beam just a little bit across, just a little bit ahead of Barry’s path and caught his leg in the process. Barry managed to grab Black before the beam hit him but when it did he was rewarded with a feeling not unlike that of being shot by Cold’s gun. Except it didn’t encase his leg in ice and thus allowed him to keep moving, even if the movement caused him considerable discomfort.

It had only been in the space of a few seconds but Barry managed to get Black well out of the way before his leg gave him enough grief that he had to stop moving. When they stopped, Barry dropped Black back to the ground and instead clutched the area around his leg where the beam had hit him – grazed him actually. It had only just made contact but the burn was nothing to scoff at and Barry knew that if it had hit him dead on, he wouldn’t be using that leg for a good while. If he’d been human it might have even spread and turned his limb to chalk like the other victims.  Thankfully his suit was made to withstand Cold and Heatwave’s guns, White’s attacks weren’t unlike their guns and so the worst of it wouldn’t get through to his muscles and flesh.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here Flash?” Barry had almost forgotten that Black was there with him and looked up to see a pair of furious red eyes glaring down at him from above the other’s mask. “Get lost.” Barry opened his mouth to snap back something about gratitude but Black could be alarmingly quick on his feet and before Barry had the chance to defend his actions – the male had leapt into the air and away from Barry, no doubt going back up to face off with White again.

_Just brilliant…_

Barry stood upright, planning to go after the other and stop this nonsense before it went too far but the slight pressure on his wounded leg did well to keep him from moving at his fastest. It wasn’t enough to ground him but running was no easy task and it was made even more difficult by the fact that the two were flying. Still he tried to keep up – not something he was accustomed to finding difficult.

“Oops.” White smiling innocently when Black shot back up into the air to face him, and didn’t Black just look so upset? It was undeniably amusing to White. “Looks like he got in the way, how unfortunate.”

“You did that on purpose, you aimed for him!” Black snarled back accusingly and White merely smiled with a small shrug. Neither denying nor confirming the accusations. That only fueled Black’s rage further; he’d attacked the scarlet speedster and didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed about his actions.

Black’s anger was so thick it was practically pliable, and White’s smile twisted into a satisfied smirk. He’d successfully riled up the other and just by the look in Black’s eyes, he knew he’d won. No matter how hard he hit, how powerful he tried to make his attacks – he would lose. Because Black was reckless, and White was levelheaded.

This fight was already over, and White had won.  
Black just hadn’t realised it yet, it always took him a little while longer than everyone else to figure out when a fight was lost.

All it took was a gesture, a small twitch of his fingers to bring Black barreling towards him and with a careless swing of his fist; Black tossed himself through the air without any need for White to exert himself. Bending his body downwards, White curled under Black’s fist rendering the attack harmless as he slid up behind Black who only just seemed to now be noticing his mistake.

Always the last horse to cross the finishing line.

“Hmpf, slow.” White mused before whipping his arm across his chest in a single fluid motion, the action called up a familiar light structure. Black’s eyes widened as the scorpion like appendage whipped out, following the flow of White’s arm as it struck Black’s back like a whip. A scream tore from Black’s chest as his entire body caved in forward under the force of the strike, he was stunned and White wasn’t going to give him the time to recollect his thoughts.

“Again...” White slashed his arm in the opposite direction and the tail followed his motions again, slicing along the small of Black’s back. “Again.” Another strike, across his spine. “Again.” This time the suit tore, shredding the bottom of Black’s cape, as the jagged tail cut into the line of his shoulder. 

“ _Again_.” The tail arched up and in one violent motion, speared into Black’s back between the blades of his shoulders. Finally White saw something in colour, blood. It bubbled up around the jagged point of the light tail and began to dribble down its length slowly, moving closer to where the tail formed at the base of White’s spine.

He watched as Black twitched and writhed, still pierced by the jagged appendage, barely able to draw in a proper breath. The helpless gasping sound he made was pitiful and White grew tired of hearing it quickly.

“Pathetic.” The word was as venomous as the poison that would course through a real scorpion’s tail.  With a simple flick of his wrist, the tail retracted and broke away into a thousand different pieces now that its usefulness had run its course. Instead the familiar threads of white light slipped from White’s fingers and wrapped around Black’s torso, ensnaring him in a constricting hold only to raise him higher into the air and fling him back towards the earth.

Black body crumpled, becoming limp as it was thrown through the air like a ragdoll, like he weighed nothing at all. Barry flinched when Black’s body hit the building opposite White. Glass shattered and Barry was positive he saw some of the stone structure give away as Black’s body became imbedded in the wall. 

“Come now.” White was there in an instant, hovering idly above the small nest of rubble and glass that had formed around Black’s battered form. “I give you three whole weeks and this is the best you have to offer? Some measly lucky shots and punches? I know you can do better than this, surely you could at least put in some effort.”

The lighter brother tsked in mock disappointment, moving in closer to Black as he struggled to jerk his body upright again. Barry knew Black’s limits and with White involved, those limits were becoming much more apparent – he wouldn’t last long.

“It’s a joke.” White hissed lowly to Black. “You’re a joke. A fool parading as a hero.”

“ _You_ …” Black mouth moved to form words but only succeeded in coughing up a hefty amount of blood, adding some more colour to his black persona. “I will get you back damn it.”

“You’ll _never_ catch up to me.” Finally anger began to taint White’s words as he lunged forward, grabbing Black around the throat to jerk him off the ground. No light structures this time, no playing around with toys and tricks – this time he was going to bruise Black with his own hands.

“You’re unable to make any substantial shadow tools, your flight is weak at best and your ability to withstand pain is not even worth mentioning. You are in no way a match for me, we may be of the same origin but you’re weak, I am strong. My light obeys my commands, you reject your shadows – you are uselessness in the form of a boy.”

The connection burned, White and Black clashing as their skin met but White endured with a hateful sneer stretched across his face. “You will never inherit the stone. It belongs to _me_ – I am the only one worthy of it.”

White watched carelessly as Black squirmed, choking as his fingers desperately clawed at White’s seemingly immovable hands. When his fingers would brush against White’s flesh they singed and Black let out further cries of pain. White knew then he was the dominant force, if they were to touch and cancel out another other – he would win. White would overcome Black and Black would be wiped clean from the planet rather than White becoming tainted by the others darkness.

Black wasn’t even close to being ready to face him.

“Heads up and hands _off_!” White barely had time to blink before he was catapulted off of Black by a sudden flash of red. Mentally he cursed himself for letting them get so close to the ground and for momentarily forgetting Black had a friend there with him.

With a growl of annoyance White managed to gain control of his body, stopping the spinning motion till he was upright in the sky again, looking down at the Flash as the speedster crouched by Black. For a few seconds White merely observed the two, noting the way the Flash was checking over Black’s injuries. That was a type of kindness that White hadn’t seen in many months. For now it would have to suffice.

“If you’re going to insist on tearing up my city.” Flash called up to White, pointing with the hand currently not being used to keep Black upright. “Then you’re going to have to get around me first.”

White’s lips twitched up into a smile at that, what a predictably heroic thing to say.

“The city is unimportant.” A lie. “If I insist on tearing up that thing in your arms-“ White pointed carelessly to the wounded metahuman in the Flash’s arms, noting the way Black struggled to try and retaliate when he was called a thing, and failed in doing so. “-would you still object?”

“I would.” The answer came so abruptly and firmly that White was almost surprised. It was the answer he expected to be given by a hero but the finality and determination behind it did surprise him.

Finally White relented, chuckling quietly as the flickers of light around his figure began to fade and diffuse. “Very well Flash.” White spoke smoothly, putting on a diplomatic face. “I’ll leave it here for today.” With that he spun in the air and made move to leave.

“Oh no you don't!” White paused, amused when the Flash called him back. “You killed another civilian didn’t you, White? The scene at the fabric store, that’s your signature isn’t it?”

For a few seconds White remained where he floated in the air, back to the two heroes before finally a quiet sigh slipped past his lips, like he was dealing with a great deal of frustration or strain.

“Well…for the sake of my ambition, this time I’ll say no.” He answered calmly. Somehow that rung a little too familiarly in Barry’s head ‘for the sake of my ambition’. It reminded Barry of things that Thawne would sometimes say when the future was involved.

“You’ll ‘ _say’_?” Flash repeated dryly, staring at the villain in disbelief. “Did you or did you not, White? Give me a proper answer this time!”

“If I say _yes_ you’ll chase me to the ends of the earth for your misplaced sense of justice, if I say _no_ he will brand me a liar and chase me all the same. I will answer with what best suits my needs.” White tossed a cold smirk over his shoulder at Flash. “So for today my answer is no.”

The Flash didn’t chase after White when he left because in all truth he didn’t know if White was responsible for the murders. Sometimes it seemed like it could only be him but other times it seemed like that was impossible, if he didn’t kill those people then his crimes were minor and all very personal. All his crimes would be against Black, not civilians.

That jogged the Flash’s memory and he looked down at the beaten metahuman in his arms. White could take a beating well enough but Black…he was still small and every hit from White seemed to have gone straight through him.

The Flash’s leg still burned with the phantom pain of White’s strike and he could guess how much it hurt Black to be struck through that many times with such ferocity. So without another word, the Flash gathered the weakened Black in a tight hold and took off in the direction of home. All the way Black squirmed and groaned, his body fighting off the lingering patches of white on his flesh. Barry knew this effect, when the two would touch they often left a mark on the other, Black dirtied White’s skin with the same sort of smudges and dark patches that were scattered on his own body and White would leave sickly pale blotches on the other.

Sometimes one of them could even fade a little bit – that was a rare and terrifying occurrence. Not one that either party seemed keen on being a part of any time soon.

“Let…” Barry heard Black trying to speak, his voice strained with the effort of forming proper words. “Let me _down_.” The words were snarled viciously but Barry ignored them, slowing slightly as they neared his residence.

“I said let me down!” Black tried again, raising his voice to try and force the Flash to comply. He was ignored a second time. “Damn it Barry, let me _go_!” 

That did it.

The second they were inside the house, Barry dumped Noire on the couch, giving him his wish. The younger man barely had the time to collect his thoughts before Barry tore off his mask and turned on him in a rage.

“I told you I didn’t want you fighting anymore.” Barry was barely able to keep himself from shouting as he looked down at Noire, in his Black persona getup. “You could have been killed!” 

“Yeah, well I ignored you!” Noire shot back, not bothering to try and keep his voice down like Barry had. “White was out there, I wasn’t just going to sit back and let him do whatever he damn well pleased.”

“Are you not hearing me, Noire?” Barry demanded, making a wild gesture to Noire’s still battered body. “Are you not hearing anything? You could have _died_ out there!”

The icy silence from Noire at least told Barry that he wasn’t naïve to that possibility, but he wasn’t about to agree with Barry and stay out of trouble either. So Barry pushed on.

“Its dangerous out there Noire. I’m only trying to protect you.” Barry tried to reason, softening his tone a little bit as he tried to be lenient but it was so damn difficult.

Wally insisted on going out and fighting crime as well, but Barry knew his speed, knew how it felt and the safety that came with it. Noire didn’t have the speed that Barry knew so well and put his trust in to keep Wally safe. He wasn’t a metahuman in the sense that he’d been given wonderful powers to fight humans with, he wasn’t rich and clever like Bruce and even though his ‘species’ was born with particular talents, the same man that he’d been up against that night had his direct counter powers. A kryptonite complex if ever Barry saw one.

Noire was too reckless, too full of anger and anguish to realise when things went too far, to know his limits and where to turn tail and run. He wasn’t safe out there and Barry desperately tried to understand, to give Noire time to realise this life wasn’t for him but he never did and so here they are – shouting at one another the way Barry always wanted to avoid.

But when Barry thought about today, remembered the moments where he wasn’t able to do anything and Noire was screaming – those terrifying seconds where he thought he was going to lose someone – he couldn’t help but be angry. Barry wouldn’t let anyone die on his watch, what about that did Noire not understand?

For a few seconds today, Barry had that crushing sense of not being fast enough. Memories of a yellow speedster came to mind, filling Barry with an all too familiar dread. Today if he hadn’t been fast enough, Black may have died and Barry would have only had himself to blame – just like when he was a child.

He couldn’t…he just couldn’t.

“Barry…” Noire’s voice was quiet and that was why it startled Barry as much as it had. He was expecting more shouting, not a hushed murmur. “No matter what you say this is what I am always going to be. White is right, I’m just a fucking shadow, how am I meant to catch him? I mean… _look_ at me!” Noire gestured furiously to his clothes, his hair even his eyes.

“Black, black, _black_! Everything about me is wrong, my eyes are red for god’s sake! I was made to be the bad one – White is the good one. I was made to be evil, then forced to be a hero and now White is trying to make me…god I don’t know what he is trying to make me into and _you_ \--!” Black trailed off, his eyes hardening. “You’re just trying to make me feel human.”

“Don’t you dare say that about yourself.” Barry snapped, unintentionally raising his voice again. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Noire. There’s never been anything wrong with you. You can’t help how you were born; you are your actions, not your birth. You can be as good as you choose to be. You were not made to be bad.”

“What the hell would you know? You, perfect Barry – bloody – Allen! Everyone loves you, have you ever had someone hate you a day in your damn life? Ha, do you even have the slightest idea what it’s like you hate yourself? You and your perfect fucking life…” 

Noire had struck a cord and for a split second Barry saw nothing but red. It was only when he caught the slight widening of Noire’s eyes that Barry realized he was actually moving like he was going to hit him. Immediately Barry recoiled from Noire, never in his life had he ever wanted to strike a friend – he’d never even considered slapping Noire. No matter how many times he got up on the roof or hissed at Hal, he’d never even thought about it.

But Noire has still looked like he thought Barry might. The idea that Noire could ever think he'd do that was more sobering than a bucket of icy water and it left him feeling ill.

In a mix of fear and anger, Barry fixed Noire with a scathing glare. “You…” Words were hard to come by and Barry found himself growling instead of finishing the thought.

The kid had struck a raw nerve with his vicious accusations of perfection but at the same time Barry knew him well enough to see that Noire was probably hurting more than he let on. Barry didn’t want to hit Noire, he wanted to hug him, because that was the only thing he could think to do when the kid was upset. The only thing he could think to do when  _he_ was upset.

So that’s exactly what Barry did.

Noire tensed and began to make noises of complaint the second Barry wrapped his arms around Noire’s shoulders, but he was ignored just like Noire ignored Barry in favor of running around as Monochrome Black.

“What are you--?” Noire began to snarl only for Barry to squeeze his shoulders gently. Barry didn’t actually have any words for Noire anymore, he still felt the anger and the hurt but he needed the kid to know that he wasn’t hated, so he embraced him all the same.

Had anyone ever hated him? He could think of a few very specific people for that role. He’d never hated himself? He had a childhood of blame that said otherwise. But Noire didn’t have to hear any of that, it wasn’t the kid’s place to wear that sort of burden. That was all for Barry.

Barry just wanted Noire to be happy, something he never seemed to be. So even though he was hurting himself, Barry tried to lighten the weight of Noire’s heart.

“Don’t hurt yourself, kid.” Barry mumbled quietly, hugging Noire more tightly. “You don’t have to feel like you’re all alone you know…”

Noire was struggling now, bruised and battered or not, he was still difficult to keep hold of when he really wanted to escape. Despite Barry’s efforts, Noire was able to slip out of his arms and back away from Barry like being near him was painful.

“What would you know…?” Noire muttered again, shaking his head as he backed towards the door. “You’re perfect.”

“Noire.” Barry tried to get through to the kid but his voice sounded tired to his own ears. “I’m not--” 

“No! Shut up.” Noire shouted, eyes screwed shut as his whole body seemed to tremble. “You’re the most perfect person I’ve ever met. If you say you’re not perfect than…”

“What would she think of this behavior?” Barry asked, cutting across Noire before he could say something that hurt them both, but in speaking so abruptly he accidentally crossed a line he shouldn't have and Noire ended up getting hurt anyway. “What would your mother think of you acting this way? Huh? Did you stop to think about what she would think of you now? Would she be proud of you?”

The words came pouring out, but they weren’t meant for Noire. Barry knew in the back of his mind that he was caught between talking about his own mother and Noire’s. At that moment he couldn’t imagine either of them being proud of their children.

Barry saw Noire's red eyes widen a fraction and the crestfallen expression on his face almost made Barry flinch. The look on Noire’s face said it all. Noire took a single deep breath, shuddering as he tried to remain composed before finally he turned his back on Barry and left the house without a word, shutting the door behind him quietly. It was the lack of an outburst, the lack of sound or any sort of retaliation that really struck Barry. He knew then he’d said too much, they’d just let a fight get out of control.

Barry’s chest felt tight with guilt and his own hurt feelings. No matter how unfair Noire was or how much Barry was sure he was right – he couldn’t let the kid go out there and hurt all on his own. He promised to keep the kid safe, to help him grow up without wearing the guilt of his mother’s death on his shoulders like Barry had and in one afternoon he’d broken every promise he’d made.

“Kid!” Barry called after Noire, dashing for the door. The moment his fingers connected with the cool metal of the doorknob however, his entire body felt like it had been sucked into a vacuum. The floor seemed to fall out from under his feet and before Barry knew it his world was turning on its side and he was falling to the ground.

He was still conscious but it was not crisp and clear like real life, it felt more like Barry had suddenly been struck hard from behind and was slipping in and out of the waking world and dreams. As he lay on the ground, just trying to breathe and make sense of the what had happened, a set of shoes came to stand in his haze vision.

"That's the last one."

Struggling Barry tried to lift his gaze but his body refused to obey his commands, the best he could do was look at the shape of the person standing over him. In the poor lighting Barry could just make out a crooked grin. 

“Now…where to begin.” The voice wasn’t one Barry knew. It wasn’t a Rogue or Zoom in his home, it was a stranger but he was still in his Flash uniform so this stranger now knew exactly who he was. Crouching down to get a better look at Barry, the stranger’s smile stretched out further on his leathery face and Barry could just see something hanging off the figure’s face, white strips of fabric. Bandages?

“Oh, where to begin with you little hero.” The stranger paused before breaking out into a fit of hysterical laughter. “H-Hero, oh…that’s wonderful. Come now, lets see how much of a hero you are in my doll house. Everything is set up just for you.”

The world was starting to slip away from Barry and as it got darker he found himself staring at the door Noire had just vanished out of. He desperately wished he could take back what he’d said, but it seemed like the world had different plans for him tonight and he was left to fall into unconsciousness with the knowledge that he’d hurt someone.


	2. Ready, Set, Go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sinning never ends.
> 
> So have some Batman.

Barry woke up with the dull sense that he’d forgotten something important. It was that unnerving feeling that stuck in the back of his mind that actually got Barry to wake up fully. With a low groan of discomfort, Barry shifted the weight of his shoulders only to realize how horribly sore he was.

It almost felt like he’d had a night out drinking and was now being punished for it – but Barry’s remaining reason reminded him that they were practically incapable of getting drunk. Unless he was having some of the special stuff that Bruce frequently prohibited him from taking – despite having made it himself specifically _for_ Barry – so Barry could scratch off that possibility.

Without that as an option, Barry was left to try and pick himself back up off the cold floor and piece together the events of the day before. It came back slowly, fragmented and hazy, but gradually Barry remembered the small disaster that was yesterday.

Barry remembered his morning, almost fondly. “Right…Noire made breakfast.” He muttered under his breath before chuckling quietly. “And I was late.”

No doubt Singh would be on his ass for not returning to the office after he rushed out and the small ache in his foot reminded him of the almost crippling attack White had fired off at him.

Finally he remembered the fight he had with Black and his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t meant for them to fight like that, and then Black ran out on him. That jogged his memory and abruptly Barry was on his feet, ignoring the way his every bone screamed and ached in protest. He couldn’t lie down and wait for his body to be ready to move – what sort of guardian would he be if he let Noire run around the city at night without him?

Once he was on his feet however the rest of the world seemed to catch up with him and Barry realized that there was more to be concerned about than he had initially thought. 

His suit was gone. The red material nowhere in sight and instead he was back in his casual clothes but Barry had no recollection of changing before he lost consciousness.

Gradually Barry’s mind was catching back up with everything else and he knew with a dull sense of dread that he’d been kidnapped. But this house was his, the walls and furniture were all familiar – this was where he’d dropped and nothing seemed to have changed in the time he was out of it, asides from his small wardrobe alteration.

“Okay…” Barry muttered under his breath, wearily looking around his house. “…so this is different?” 

It took a few seconds for the accuracy of his own words to really sink in. Even though the surroundings were familiar there was a sort of unease about the house that set Barry on edge. A constant hazy fog seemed to linger in his mind and Barry felt vaguely ill, like he had a mildly upset stomach that just refused to leave him be. The entire place seemed somehow distant from reality, almost like a dream but the aching in Barry’s bones reminded him that he was very much awake.

“Noire?” Barry called out into the house, hoping maybe the kid would have come back while he was out but for his efforts Barry was met with stony silence. Oh, Noire could still very well be lurking around and just giving him the usual cold shoulder treatment but Barry wasn’t getting that vibe. This house felt _very_ empty.

Empty and not at all his own. All those years of being a superhero did tend to give someone an otherworldly sense for this sort of thing, and so when Barry began to look around his own home, he did so cautiously.

At first the house seemed to be an almost perfect replica, it was only in the smallest details that Barry’s skin began to crawl. That place by the staircase that had always let out an annoying creak when trodden on remained eerily silent. The photos on the walls were familiar but the faces weren’t quiet right – one even featured a smiling Noire which was unnatural in itself.

Even the smell of the house was off, in the way that it simply wasn't _there_. The longer Barry was in his own home the more he came to notice the silence and stillness of it. Nothing stirred, he couldn’t hear the faint buzz of electricity from the various appliances scattered the house or even the outside rustling of leaves.

Actually it was getting sort of annoying. Barry quickly found himself agitated by the loss of subtle stimulation, being in a place that felt so entirely dead made him feel out of place. It made him feel slow.

Naturally Barry decided the first thing he was going to do, was leave. Doing his best to ignore the uneasy feeling in the bottom of his gut and the loss of his costume, Barry made for the front door. 

In hindsight he shouldn’t have been surprised when it didn’t open.

The first rough jerk on the handle only gave Barry a slight rattle from the door but it remained firmly stuck in place. He tried it three more times for good measure but the door didn’t seem ready to budge. By the fifth try Barry was feeling more than a little insulted. 

“It’s a door.” He muttered under his breath in disbelief. “And I am in the Justice League. Come _on_!” Evidently the door did not see the value to being in the justice league and still refused to open even when Barry tried to jerk it open with both hands.

“Fine.” Seething the word, Barry eyed the offending door coolly before raising his hand. “Let’s see how stuck you stay when I vibrate through yo—What?” 

Looking between his hand and the door Barry felt his stomach drop, he wasn’t vibrating – at all. Try as he might, Barry couldn’t for the life of him get his body to shudder in and out of focus in the usual blur of motion, instead his body remained stock still and at a normal, human pace. 

Abruptly Barry felt sick. The sort of nausea that hits after a sharp drop and sudden stop, or the realization that you had forgotten something important. It was a disgusting feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach and Barry knew instantly what its source was.

Barry was cut off from the speed force.

“And it just gets better.” Barry moaned lowly, raking his fingers through his hair as he fought down a mix of bile and frustrated screaming.

The situation had gone from weird to potential super villain scheme levels, on Barry’s ‘ _dangerous shit o’meter’_. Again he ran over the events of the day prior through his skull, looking for something he might have missed in all of this.

He ran over things that had been said to him, things that had left his own mouth in a hazy rush of memories and words. Just looking for something, anything that might help him understand this otherworldly feel he was getting. It was only when he finally grasped the first thread of memory about what came after his fight with Noire that something happened.

“ _Flash_.” 

Immediately Barry was upright, spinning around to seek out the source of the voice. It jogged the remainder of his memory, the moments before he’d passed out Barry recalled hearing this same voice speaking to him. But now he could not locate the body it belonged to, instead the word hung in the air eerily as if it had come from nowhere.

“A speaker?” Barry guessed, voice guarded as his eyes swept over the deceptively familiar house again, seeking out anything that would give him some sort of leg up on this guy. He assumed it was a man, after all any woman with a voice like that was something the world wasn’t quite ready to handle just yet.

“Something of the sort.” The disembodied voice confessed with a note of amusement. “But you won’t find any speakers here Mr. Flash.”

“Alright, and where exactly is here?” Barry called back through the air while he inched back a few steps, as if he expected a surprise attack. One he wouldn’t be able to counter easily with the loss of his speed.

“Why, Mr. Flash this is your home. Is it not?” Okay, Barry was going to have an issue with this guy’s attitude.

“Can we drop the ‘Mr Flash’ part? Sounds so old.” Banter with villains came as second nature but it was exceedingly difficult to do so without a visual on the opponent.

“My apologies, should I call you Mr. Allen instead?”

A cold shiver ran up Barry’s spine when the stranger called him by his name. He was suppose to keep his identity a secret and here a complete stranger knew it before Barry even knew his villain name. Actually, Barry wasn’t sure the man was even a villain just yet but this was definitely giving him that super villain ‘I’m going to murder your family’ vibe.

“Did that surprise you Mr. Allen? Try not to feel too bad about it, I knew your name before I knew the hero ‘Flash’.” Briefly silence filled the house again and Barry recognized it as the stranger taking a moment to think. “On second thought, I think we will stick to Allen – it would feel wrong to call you the ‘ _Flash’_ like that title really belonged to you.”

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m the one and only.” Barry crowed proudly, not about to let some stranger bash his good doing name.

“Ha…we’ll see.” The bastard had the poor manners to laugh at him!

“Hey, I’m feeling a bit put out here man. You seem to have all these names for me and I don’t know what to call you.”

Now fairly certain that there wasn’t going to be a sudden attack from the dark, Barry began to creep away from the door. His eyes continued their rapid scan of the house, looking for cameras or speakers – anything to help him find some sort of blind spot he could abuse. 

“That’s very polite of you. Even if it’s just a little rudely asked.” The stranger was rattling on while Barry moved around the house. 

“Not hearing a name here bud.” Barry called while peeking into the kitchen. Without his powers Barry was going to have to look to alternative means of protecting himself – a knife might not be the worst idea in the world but it’d been a while since he’d had to resort to such violent means. But protection was protection.

There was a set of them in Barry’s kitchen, all stuck into the same wooden holder. There had been a number of occasions where Noire had been cooking and turned to Barry brandishing one of these knives. He hadn’t actually tried stabbing Barry yet but…there was a first time for everything right? 

As of right now, Barry decided to take one of the larger knives. He figured he probably wouldn’t use it to harm so much as scare, if he got his hands on this guy he needed some sort of intimidation factor. Size equaled more scare points he was fairly sure.

“Crooked.” 

The name came calmly and took Barry off guard – he’d almost forgotten that he’d asked the man for a name at all.

“You may call me the Crooked Man.” The stranger elaborated in that same calm tone. “It’s the only name I have now Mr. Allen.” 

Barry had frozen, his hand still reaching for the knife he’d been approaching. The sound of the man’s name rung eerily in his ears, causing his entire body to freeze in recognition. Barry knew that name, he _knew_ the title.

“Crooked Man…?” Barry repeated slowly, the very words making his stomach drop in a horrible twisting feeling.

“You know it?” Crooked Man asked, a note of surprise dropping into his words but it was undeniably a pleasant surprise to the man. “You know me?”

“You’re dead.” The words came out as little more than a disbelieving whisper. 

Silence. Barry received nothing but silence from the man. With a frustrated growl Barry snatched up the knife he’d been going for and stalked back into the living room, words flying from his mouth in a confused rage. 

“They said that you died. Put a bullet between your eyes!” Barry shouted into the seemingly empty house. “Bats even saw you drop off the seventh floor! You’re _dead_. You can’t be the same man from back then. You can't--!”

“Do you like games Mr. Allen?” 

The question caught Barry by surprise, the abruptness of it throwing him off his game. His stunned silence only prompted the Crooked Man to keep talking. 

“I do. Always have– but I never had anyone to play with. Not until recently. So you know what I did? I created games for one, games designed to judge character and worth – tests if you will. I designed all sorts of games, but no matter which one I played – I always lost. Upsetting really.”

If Barry had the tongue to do so, he would have made comment on the fact that it really was sad to lose at a game you made up yourself. But the Crooked Man kept talking, leaving no room for interruption. 

“But today you and I are going to play together. I made a game just for you – in truth it’s not a hard game and of course I promise to reward you should you win.”

“I highly doubt that.” Barry scoffed bitterly.

“You have my word, I always keep my word.” He’d heard _that_ before.

“And what do I win huh?” Barry demanded, hardly entertaining the idea of the man being honest but he wanted to keep the guy talking. Barry needed answers and most of all he needed reassurance. Closure, to know that this Crooked Man was not the same as the one that had died months ago.

“Your life.” _Typical_. “Your title, your worth – everything you have to offer. I will return it, all you must do is complete one simple task.”

“That is?”

The fact Barry was even entertaining this was ludicrous but without the speed force flowing through his veins, Barry figured he’d have to play along at least for a short time. 

“Simply make it to the furthermost room of the house. You complete my five challenges and the way out is yours.”

From what he’d learnt from other villains over the years was that – they did so _love_ their own plans. If this guy wanted to play a game and Barry played along – he’d certainly buy more time.

Time to do what Barry wasn’t entirely sure, but it was better than nothing.

“Alright, you have yourself a player.” Barry agreed, still feeling a little odd talking to the air – but logically it wasn’t all that different to the coms that he and the team used on missions or the rare occasions where they’d use a mental link. Maybe it was the fact he was talking to someone with intentions of possibly killing him that made the whole ordeal uncanny.

“I knew you’d enjoy this!” The strangest thing was the Crooked Man sounded genuinely pleased. “I’ll open the first door, pass through that and we’ll begin. Now remember if you should fail any of the tasks then it’s an automatic failure.” 

“Whoa, whoa – hold the phone for just a moment! You haven’t told me anything about these ‘challenges’ like are we talking Canary’s training routine or arguing with Batman type challenge?”

There was a pause and Barry had the sinking feeling he was going to have to do this blind but finally the man began to speak again, slow and reluctant. “What is a game without rules?” He lamented in disappointment. “Very well, here are the rules little runner.” 

“Each trial will consist of one area, once completed a door or other path out will be revealed and you may pass into the next area of your test. In order to complete these challenges you must do two things. The first is very simple – you will be required to answer a riddle. They’re not particularly hard, but I think they’re important for you to answer.”

“Taking a page out of Nigma’s book huh?” Barry muttered under his breath but his snide comment went either unnoticed or ignored.

“The second part to your trails can be considerably harder but no less simple. You’ll be required to be a hero.”

Barry laughed. He couldn’t bite back the scoff that those words prompted. “A hero?” He repeated indignantly. “Sorry, how about we try this again. Hello, nice to meet you – I’m the _Flash_. Remember?”

“Perhaps.” What the hell did that mean? “But without your speed, what sort of hero could you possibly be? Oh – on that note, lets begin your first trail. Mind your arms.” 

“Hey, hold on just a damn minute!” Barry didn’t have enough information. What did the man need by being a hero? How was he supposed to beat these challenges with vague instructions like that?

How had the man cut him off from the speed force, how had he found out his identity, what was this place, how had be made it in the first place and most importantly, why was he doing this? What did this man have to gain from doing this in the first place? 

Barry had a mountain of questions but none of them were getting answers right then, without a word from the ethereal voice – Barry was dropped straight through the floor. He let out a rather undignified yelp as the floor was suddenly displaced from under his feet and Barry was falling. The imposter house he’d vaguely recognized as home vanishing up overhead as Barry plummeted into the darkness below.

Unlike last time he’d fallen, Barry did not have the good fortune to pass out and so when his knees hit the ground below, he felt every new bruise he was going to be sporting in vivid detail. The impact was rather anti-climatic really, a low thud and groan from Barry and the downward ride had come to an end.

“Christ…” Barry moaned, hands gripping at his throbbing knees as if he could somehow will away the pain that shot up through his legs from the impact. “Almost forgot what that felt like…” He muttered, knowing that his legs would be sore for a while without the rapid healing of the speed force. 

The sound of paper falling caught Barry’s attention and he turned his gaze up towards the tunnel he’d fallen through. Fluttering down through it was a single scrap of paper that Barry managed to catch. He didn’t know what he’d expected it to say but he was disappointed with it’s contents all the same.

‘ _Find my riddle_.’

“Oh, now I got to _find_ your challenges too?” At this point Barry was more insulted than he was concerned. Asides from some magic tricks, the man hadn’t harmed him or made any of the usual claims. Crooked Man hadn’t bragged about besting him, or destroying the world or even killing him – Barry was still at a loss to what his angle was but from what he could guess the man was only bothering him.

That at least meant Central City and friends were safe – but it did leave Barry at a loss.

Slowly Barry eased himself back up to his feet, ignoring the protests from his bruised kneecaps as he straightened up. The place he’d been dropped into was darker than the replica home he’d been in before but Barry still recognized it in a sense. Like a dream that only distantly resembled a place he’d once seen, familiar but just alien enough to be unnerving.

“Alright, if I was a psycho back from the dead – where would I hide a riddle?” Barry muttered, keeping up the external dialogue. It helped to fill in the dead air and calm his nerves – just like mocking a villain seemed to make him feel more daring. Hero 101 really.

Despite the dark, Barry gradually made out solid shapes and images, it was only when his eyes had fully adjusted to the dark that Barry’s heart dropped.

“Oh.” The place was filled with doors, hundreds and hundreds of doors. “This is going to be a long game isn’t it?”

 

…  
…  
…

 

The news was somehow uninformative, littered with factual errors and yet still, in some bizarre inane way – theatrical. It was like trying to uncover small tidbits of truth from a mass of fictional stories. The sort of stories that started with the words ‘based on true events’.

Bruce had always been aware of this and so most all news was taken with a grain of salt. But in all his time observing the soap opera that news had become, there was still merit in its existence. Simple facts like, this man died today or this place has been robbed – were still valid and a majority of the time they were accurate. It was only in the details that the story teller in all humans came into play.

For ratings, viewers or simply entertainment it seemed the news had taken to making up motives, ideas and decisions on the crimes and events of the world. Bruce had always disliked that, the news was a place for simple facts – to present the state of the world, not judge it. 

Still, those were minor complaints and as always the news still served its purpose – it was just a matter of looking into things himself rather than believing everything that came from the screen.

However the news was definitely capturing the Batman’s attention today. His shift up on the Watchtower consisted of many jobs and small chores that needed his attention. Ranging from fixing their gear to planning new strategies – but regardless of what he was working on, Bruce kept the news channels streaming through the background.

Back at his cave he had better means of monitoring Gotham but the Watchtower had to keep eyes and ears on the entire planet and so it became increasingly troublesome to keep things in order. Still there had been a number of times that this constant stream of fear mongering and witch hunts bore fruit. 

More than once Bruce had been alerted to a crisis by these programs and more often than not had been able to respond efficiently and effectively. It was good having teammates who could run across oceans and fly – made for a solid response time.

Today however, the thing that caught Bruce’s attention wasn’t some sort of tragedy in action or threat that needed an immediate response – it was instead a case of bad parenting.

He’d been bent over one of the ear pieces the team used to stay in contact during missions, having to check over the hardware after it took a nasty blast of electricity – Bruce promised himself not to ask exactly _why_ Shizam had taken the wrong one last time, promised himself he wouldn’t get angry with the gross carelessness the man had shown. He was still just a child in a lot of ways after all. Still he built his gear to last and Bruce didn’t mind fixing up the damaged device – it was an education.

Bruce was almost finished when he caught the muffled screen spitting out familiar names, ‘Central City’ and ‘Flash’ standing out among them. Gently placing his equipment down Bruce raised the sound on the system, bringing the quiet drone of information to a listenable volume. 

“—and for the fourth time Central City has been host to a brawl between the two meta-humans. According to local sources they’re referred to as Monochrome Black and White – and it seems as though the motive behind their fighting is still up for debate.” The screen cut away to a scene obviously taken some time ago while interviewing the city folk who had seen or heard of the scuffle.

“They’re, I dunno,” One young woman was saying, trying to keep herself composed for an interview and only making it halfway. “, opposites? Like they’re called Black and White right? So they’re probably fighting because they’re different. That’s what I think anyway.”

“Man, I’ve been watching these two since they first showed up and I’m telling you – they’re totally fighting because they _have_ to. Have you seen the way they fight? It’s some seriously crazy stuff, like they’re going to cancel one another out!” Composure had nothing to do with the second person they interviewed, he seemed too ecstatic about the whole thing to bother with composure.

“I heard every time they fight someone shows up dead. It’s kinda scary.” A coupe had been interviewed last and the woman of the two did look concerned. “It can’t just be a coincidence right?”

The responses ranged from outrage, to fear, to excitement. Bruce noticed the younger the person interviewed the more they leaned towards excitement.

“And then the Flash showed up!” One kid exclaimed to the camera, positively glowing at the mention of the scarlet speedster. “He’s so cool, just ran straight in to break them up. He saved the Black one though, I sort of thought that the White one was the good guy.”

Bruce frowned, watching as the screen changed to a scene shot during the fight between the monochrome brothers, the exact moment Flash had shown up on the scene. Observing how the fight actually went, Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of it at first.

Sure enough Flash ran straight in without thinking and nearly got himself blasted by White, but Bruce did admire how short lived the confrontation had been.

“Batman?” Immediately Bruce paused the feed, turning to face his colleague that had just entered. Superman gave him a quick puzzled look before glancing up at the frozen screens. “Trouble?” He guessed, feet finally touching the ground as he stopped hovering. It seemed like bad manners to hover in the presence of those that walked – something he’d apparently taught to Black.

“Of sorts.” Bruce replied flatly, hitting the play button to allow the feed to resume. Both he and Superman watched without a word, but Bruce was sure he saw Clark wince each time the camera focused in on Black – who was taking a sever thrashing. Bruce was not surprised, he knew the boy’s limits and he was certainly no match up for his brother. So it naturally frustrated Bruce to see the child put himself in harms way needlessly.

The coverage of the fight was limited, it had been a short encounter but it left marks on the city. Black’s body had left a sizable hole in one of the buildings and a few of White’s light blasts had scorched and torn up the pavement.

“Should we check in?” Clark asked when Bruce lowered the volume, having decided he’d gotten all the information he needed and the rest was nothing short of gossip.

“No.” Bruce answered bluntly, returning to his work on the ear piece while Clark continued to watch his back. Even without looking Bruce knew he would be wearing that worried frown.

Perhaps it was Bruce’s fault for having babied Flash and Black in their early days. He’d never failed to help the two when they needed it, even if it was only for small reasons  - but that had been when Noire was still practically a toddler. Bruce was only doing what he promised to, so there was no reason to go butting into Central City’s business without an invitation from the Flash himself.

Batman loathed it when people came into his city without a formal invite, it was only right to extend the same expectations and common courtesy to himself. 

“You’re not worried?” Clark pushed the matter, like he always did and Bruce had to bite back down a sigh to keep up his stoic appearance.

“Needless fretting is not something I frequently do Superman.” Curt as always, Bruce kept his focus on the gadget under his hands.

“I know.” Batman could practically hear the man rolling his eyes with that comment. It didn’t surprise him when Superman approached his side, resting one large hand flat against his work space so he could lean down a bit and keep speaking. Bruce didn’t understand his need to be close when talking but he allowed it out of habit alone. “But don’t you usually check in with those two from time to time? After a fight like that it seems like you ought to.”

“The league left the care of Noire Harlow to the Flash.” Batman reminded the big red boy scout firmly. “If he were not fit to deal with such things, he would not have been chosen.”

Superman was giving him that look again and Bruce quietly cursed him for not wearing more to cover his face. Bruce kept his emotions hard to read but Clark frequently bombarded him with expressions that questioned and chided all in one glance.

The silence continued to stretch between them and it didn’t seem like Clark had any intentions of letting up any time soon. Frustrated, Bruce pushed his seat back in a single sharp shove and stalked away from the table and man. 

“There’s no harm in admitting you’re concerned about your team mates.” Clark called after Bruce’s retreating form and the Bat had no doubt he’d be followed by the persistent Daily Planet worker.

“May I remind you that Monochrome Black is not a recognized superhero, nor a justice league member?” Bruce pointed out, irritation leaking into his tone and causing the words to become a growl.

“You don’t trust him.” Clark noted knowingly, casting a judgmental look Bruce’s way.

“It is not a matter of _trust_ Superman. It’s a simple matter of qualification - of ability.” A pause. “He’s still only a child.”

“Oh don’t give me that.” Clark crossed his arms over his chest with an indignant huff. “You expect me to believe that the same Batman that defended Shizam’s right to be in the league and repeatedly raises the most talented boy heroes the world has ever seen – would deny Black because he’s a _child_?” 

Sometimes Superman was able to make sound arguments – Bruce hated those times.  
But he couldn't very well speak his true thoughts on the matter, it was not the fact that Noire was a child that kept Bruce from accepting him into the dangerous world of vigilantes. Rather it was the fact that he was  _her_ child, that troubled Bruce. He had promised to keep the kid safe, both of them - and the two were not making it an easy promise to keep.

“We are partners you know Bruce.” He let out a small growl at the use of his identity while on the job but Clark blissfully ignored him. “It wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest with me. You trust me to keep your back safe in a fight, trusting me with your thoughts wouldn’t be that much of a step up.”

“You obviously don’t understand the true dangers of the world then.” Bruce bit back coldly and much to his frustration, Clark was giving him that kicked puppy look again. _Good grief…_

“And…” Bruce continued reluctantly. “It is about teaching responsibility.”

“To Flash?” Clark sounded surprised and Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle. He thought it was obvious.

“Responsibility and the importance of letting others take responsibility.” Clark looked confused and Bruce’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Or more accurately to know where the line is between the two.”

“You’re a piece of work Bruce, leave it to you to create a learning exercise out of this. It’s like you’re giving him one of those fake babies they give to high school students.” Apt, if just a little bit childish. “But…are you really sure that we should leave them alone?”

Clark turned to stare up at the mute screen with a frown. The footage of Flash being caught by one of White’s blasts and Black being beaten into next week seemed to be on an endless loop. “They might need some help.” Bruce glanced at the screen from the corner of his eye, noting the way Black’s body crumpled bonelessly against the Flash’s shoulder. 

Admittedly it did make him uncomfortable seeing these scenes, seeing the child that had been entrusted to them get beaten senseless by the _other_ child they were suppose to keep an eye on. Norie might have been a handful but Alois was unmanageable – the string of murders in Central City all seemed to link back to White. But Bruce had his reservations. 

Despite deciding to stay away, Bruce made a mental note to look into those murders himself. The Central City police weren’t having any luck and the Flash wasn’t doing much better. Batman figured that they were simply looking in all the wrong places.

Barry had his hands full with Noire – that gave Bruce plenty of time to deal with Alois. Bruce knew a thing or two about renegade family members, perhaps he’d have more luck with White than he had his own wards. He knew no one else was up to the task and should Alois need to be contained – he was the best choice for the job.

Briefly he considered letting Lantern do it, he had a personal stake in all of this after all, but that was what made him unsuitable. Hal was emotionally invested, it would cloud his judgment – Bruce would not let such a thing distract him from what had to be done.

“Tomorrow evening.” Clark almost jumped when Bruce suddenly spoke up. “If they have not made contact by tomorrow evening – in time for the meeting – I will go to see them myself.” 

Bruce pretended not to see how Clark smiled at him. That sweet, ever thankful smile that told him, Clark didn’t think he was half as cold as he let on.  
He’d be lying if he said it was not somewhat endearing. But it was still equally annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to point out errors or offer up ideas.  
> I'm always taking ideas for torturing Barry Allen...or any character really.


	3. Doors

Three hours.

Three. God. Damn. _Hours_. 

Quietly Barry cursed the loss of his speed for the hundredth time as he opened up another red door, only to find this one was boarded up with wooden planks – a considerable improvement from some others. Only a few doors actually opened and so far those that did usually lead to a brick wall or some sort of impenetrable forest – but there was one that seemed to be covered in _hair_. Nightmares would be following Barry for weeks after that one. 

At least if Barry had been as his usual speed he could have checked through thousands of them by this point – as it stood now, he was probably only into the early hundreds and the endless halls of red doors didn’t seem to be running low on more potential disappointments.

Slamming the last door he’d tried, shut, Barry let out a wordless snarl of frustration. He already felt exhausted by this game and literally nothing of importance had happened. Did CM – Barry had decided to refer to the man in his initials because saying Crooked Man every time he wanted to curse him took too much energy – just want him to die of boredom or starvation?

Well Barry knew which one would come first – he’d be dead long before his stomach gave its first rumble.

It might have been a blessing or a curse that his imprisoner had remained silent during the whole three hours. Not a peep, no gloating or offers of advice – nothing. Barry had to say, not having a villain actively go out of their way to mock and taunt him was…different. Refreshing even 

Still, after this long Barry was beginning to worry the man had just gotten bored and left – that was something Tricks might do and at this point Barry wasn't’ sure what type of psycho he was dealing with. It could have been Cold’s meticulous calculating mind, the Tricksters spontaneous misadventures or even the insatiable loathing that came from Thawne.

The unknown was really bugging Barry at this point – but with at least one hundred thousand more doors waiting to be tried, he had all the time in the world to speculate about his new ‘friend’.   
About if he was telling the truth about his identity.

Between each new, disappointing door, Barry had plenty of time to stitch together what he did know.

What he knew about the original Crooked Man was limited – scraps from what Bruce was willing to divulge. The man had never committed a crime before in his life and then one day he was suddenly barking mad. Set his sights on a bunch of children from a children’s home – an orphanage under another name. According to all accounts, he’d also died that same day. A clean record all his life and then suddenly one day it all went out the window – just one single day.

Distantly Barry’s own accusing words rung hollowly in his ears. ‘ _Put a bullet right between your eyes! Fell from the seventh floor!_ ’

“Seems pretty lively for a corpse.” Barry muttered bitterly as his hand wrapped around another perfectly polished golden doorknob. A few rattles and halfhearted tugs revealed this was one of those false doors. When the first door refused to open three hours ago Barry had spent a good amount of time studying it. Looking for a lock, barricade or some sort of object that halted its opening.

What he found was that the door wasn’t even real. It was like decoration – didn’t open at all. However with the benefit of hindsight, Barry concluded that all the doors were decoration, seeing as the ones that opened didn’t even go anywhere. Seemed to be a lot of that going around recently – things that went nowhere.

With frustration mounting and his patience wearing thin, Barry employed a new tactic – think like the bat. What would Bruce do when trapped in this sort of maze? Knowing the stubborn bat he’d probably ignore all the bait, refuse to play their game and find a way out – a bit late for that idea now. So plan B was put into motion and what was it the bat did best? Be a detective of course. 

“So hey!” The silence had actually gotten to the point where Barry was imagining hearing things – so he decided enough was enough and filled up the empty air with his voice. If the creepy guy was listening he might just answer and perhaps he could try out his own detective skills. “This game of yours, I was thinking that maybe we could spice it up a little.” 

“Not that this door opening business isn’t _enthralling_.” Time to find some clues. “But how about we add a little something extra?”

A few seconds passed and…nothing. Barry could have torn his hair out purely from frustration. What sort of inconsiderate fuck sets up this sort of game and then abandons it before it’s even started? Had he gotten bored because Barry hadn’t found his riddle? Was this all a ploy to infuriate the speedster?

Barry damn near began shouting before suddenly, there was a sound. 

Faint, barely audible under standard circumstances, but in this empty maze of doors – it sounded like thunder. The noise continued for a few seconds long, long enough for Barry to recognize it as something being scrapped against wood. The scratching continued until Barry found the source.

One of the many red doors was unexplainably being made the barer of a message. Despite the flips of joy Barry stomach was doing to see that something was actually _happening_ , the low wails of the door being carved into by an unseen force made his skin crawl unpleasantly and Barry kept his distance.

Each letter was unhurriedly, painstakingly carved into the wood and all Barry could think while watching the slow progress was that moving at a regular pace was maddening. When the unseen force stopped scratching its way against the wood, Barry finally allowed himself to step forward and have a good look at what CM had left for him.

“What the hell?” Barry groaned, beyond frustrated when he read the words crudely carved into the door. It didn’t actually make sense at fist, the letters looked vaguely familiar if just a little warped. It took Barry a solid ten seconds to realize they were backwards, like they’d been written from the other side of glass.

Frustrated, Barry audibly groaned and began to trace his fingers over the marks to make out the words. It wasn’t difficult – simply tedious. After tracing over each letter, Barry felt his irritation flare up again – it felt like CM was toying with him. 

‘ _What would you suggest?_ ’ Between CM’s disembodied voice when he first arrived and the small note he’d dropped to Barry some odd three hours ago – this way of communication was by far Barry’s _least_ favourite. 

Well at least the guy was still listening to him and hadn’t just wandered off to do god knows what else.

Satisfied that he was no being heard and listened to, Barry continued the routine of checking doors and immediately being disappointed by them. But now he added a bit more running commentary to the mix, filling up that suffocating dead air with his own careless string of words.

“Alright, well how about some context?” Barry suggested as he gave another door handle a half-hearted tug. Nothing. He barely had the energy to be angry anymore, let alone surprised and so without a fuss he moved onto the next.

“You see, here’s the thing buddy. You obviously know a bit about me to set up…whatever _this_ is.” Barry gestured to the halls of doors, still having trouble finding a reasonable explanation for it all. So far he’d created theories ranging from the realistic to bizarre – his favorites so far included a healthy dose of magic beans.

He’d been working this gig long enough to get tossed into mirror worlds, through portals, time and even other dimensions – there was little room left for cynicism. Still Barry didn’t completely rule out the possibility that this was completely normal, void of supernatural elements – a few of Bat’s trouble makers had a knack for making the natural world appear surreal. 

Stories of the Court of Owls, labyrinth came to mind. Barry suppressed a shudder when recalling the expression Bats had worn when recounting the event to his team. It was necessary to share such details but it seemed even the Batman could be shaken from time to time. 

What had happened to Bruce down in the labyrinth was something the man kept close to his own heart and memory – whatever had happened to him down there was just another secret he’d be taking to the grave. Just another thing that the Batman failed to share with those that cared about him. 

Barry was going to try talking to him again about trusting his team a bit more. But he knew it wasn’t about trust, not really – Bruce was holding back for other reasons and Barry could only catch glimpses of those reasons through the man’s all but impenetrable mask.

For the time being Barry’s only goal was the come out of this little game without the same air of dread Bruce had hanging off of him after he’d escaped the labyrinth.

“But,” Barry continued after another door yielded nothing of use. “I still don’t know the first thing about you.” 

Barry wasn’t alarmed this time when the sound of wood being cut into drifted through his ears. Instead he abruptly stopped and located the new messenger board. Knowing the game this time Barry had no trouble getting the message, tracing the words more quickly the second time around. 

“ _I am the Crooked Man.”_

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Barry rattled off with a roll of his eyes. “You say that but who says you’re _the_ Crooked Man?”

Furiously the familiar complaints and denials banged against Barry’s brain. Screaming over and over again the facts Bruce had laid down for him. The Crooked Man was dead – bullet between the eyes, off the seventh floor.

“Besides, who was the Crooked Man anyway? You know my name and my hero persona – so what is your name huh? Give me something here.” 

Villains weren’t known to be precious about their identities; most gave it away without a care. Barry always saw it as a mix of pride and a blatant disregard for others. The purpose of a secret identity was simple – to protect yourself and more importantly, your loved ones. 

The fact most villains didn’t bother with it had always struck Barry as a sign that either they didn’t love anyone or they simple had no one to love. It was a strange sort of feeling that left the red speedster with. 

Distantly Barry thought of his least favorite nemesis – Eobard Thawne. The man had put him through hell and back more times than he cared to count, thrown him through time periods and loops Barry didn’t know could exist. The yellow speedster was everything Barry hated and everything he fought against – but there was a time, brief as it was, that Barry really did feel pity for the man.

The man had no lightening rod, nothing tying him to life. Really all the Reverse Flash had in the end was himself and his own hatred for Barry. Not a person alive cared for him and Barry had often wondered if Thawne had ever been loved or cared for another. 

It was unlikely, and so when Barry first encountered the Reverse Flash – it had been practically the same time he met Eobard Thawne. He didn’t hide his true identity because there was no reason to – nothing to protect.

Barry didn’t have that luxury, if it could be called that, he had many people he cared about. His identity was important to him – to keep them safe. And now some lunatic claiming to be a dead man knew it. 

But that did leave Barry with an interesting thought – did this man have anything worth protecting? 

The next message came more slowly, like the man was thinking about each word he wrote down, and it took all of Barry’s strength not to bang on the door to get him to hurry up. He was already on edge with the loss of his own speed and it didn’t help that CM seemed content to take all the time in the world. Evidently patience was a virtue this particular man had in abundance. 

“ _You want to play another game? Then I’ll add rewards. Find my riddles, complete my challenges and in each stage I will leave scraps of the past for you to find_.”

Despite having been able to weasel something out of CM, Barry was still left with the maze of pointless doors and not the first idea on what he was suppose to do with them all.

“Should have asked him for a door that actually goes somewhere instead of a damn history lesson.” 

This was rapidly turning into a real game Barry might have sat down to play with Hal. It had optional story content on top of the five levels and end challenges. Hal had always been better at video games than he had and Barry found himself longing for his friend’s uncanny knowledge on such things. 

With little else to do, Barry glumly reached for yet another door, wondering idly if this one would be bricked up or glued shut. 

Just as his hand closed around the brass handle however, there was a sudden tremor that vibrated up Barry’s arm and caused him to jump in alarm. He still had his fingers closed around the handle when the door suddenly swung inwards, bringing Barry with it on its path. That brought Barry forward a few clumsy steps and forced him to look up at the person on the other side of the door that Barry had most certainly not expected to open. 

Who could blame him? After hundreds of duds there just so happened to be one that not only opened but also had someone else on the end. And on the other side of the very much open door, there stood a familiar face looking down at Barry with the same surprised expression.

“Hal?”

“The one and only.” That certainly sounded like Hal Jordan. In an instant Barry’s expression brightened and he lunged forward to give the lantern a tight hug. After three hours of this nonsense he didn’t care if Hal complained about the casual contact, but much to Barry’s surprise, Hal returned the embrace almost as eagerly.

“How did you get down here?” Barry asked after the two broke apart, keeping one another within arms length.

Hal wasn’t in his Green Lantern uniform, instead he was wearing the same brown jacket he always had on and a familiar grin clung to his lips. He was definitely a sight for sore eyes, but his presence here did stump Barry. Just how many people did CM intend to string into this?

It was also fairly jarring just to see Hal again, he’d been off world for so long and without so much as a phone call, Barry very nearly made a joke about hardly recognizing his long time friend. He knew perfectly well that Hal had a whole universe, or sector, he had to protect – but Barry had been growing a little weary of these long bouts of silence from his best friend.

Being trapped with him in a never-ending maze might have been overcompensating just a tad though. 

“Woke up here.” Hal explained offhandedly and with a curious look up, he broke away from Barry to look into the maze of doors that was on Barry’s side of the door. He’d expected Hal would have the same set up on his end but when Barry peeked in he found that the door lead to a small windowless room.

“Got sucker punched by some wacko in bandages.” Hal continued in a disgruntle tone. “Cooked man or something.” 

“Crooked.” Barry correctly distractedly as he hovered in the doorway, not yet certain it was safe to venture inside. He must have been overwhelmed by the fact a door had actually _opened_. Who would have thought doors could do that?

While Hal explored where Barry had come from, the Flash tentatively inspected the small box of a room Hal had popped out of. Inside the small room there was a desk, a chair and a small, rickety looking bed. Lined up along the walls were shelves, simple beams of wood jutting right out of the brick work – what drew Barry to them was the fact that they were empty.

“Optional story content.” He mused to himself, stepping fully into the room to have a proper look around. 

With so little in the room it didn’t take long for Barry to have a look at everything. First the bed, which didn’t so much as have a crease in it. It looked freshly made, might as well have been a whole new bed for all the use it appeared to have. However that did nothing to change the fact it was still a small, uncomfortable looking thing. 

CM told Barry that he would leave clues as he progressed, this was the first thing he’d actually found – if the man did not deliver Barry was going to be furious.

As he was looking through the drawers in the table, Barry did wonder why he’d bothered asking for that little tidbit to be added to their ‘game’. There was the initial boredom that prompted him to say something but under that there was a genuine need to know. Barry had seen some crazy, awful things before, including people coming back from the grave but in this instance he was dearly hoping that the Crooked Man was dead. 

If this was really the same man from all that time ago, Barry needed to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Sweep him under the rug essentially, Barry just had to do anything to keep Noire from ever seeing the man or knowing he was back.

Was he being too protective?

Thinking back on the argument between Noire and himself, Barry couldn’t help but acknowledge the dreadful feeling curling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he was the one that ought to be sorry – he was only trying to look out for the kid, but Barry could see how that concern could very quickly become over bearing. 

Just as that though began to truly trouble Barry, his hand brushed against something was wasn’t wood. A small jolt of excitement run up the length of his spine as a small scrap of paper was retrieved from the bottom drawer.

Trying to flatten it out was difficult but Barry didn’t need the note to be flawless, just legible. It took a bit of work but finally Barry was able to make out the tiny, fluidly written words on the paper. 

He’d found one of CM’s riddles.

_‘I make you weak at the worst of all times. I keep you safe, I keep you fine._

_I make your hands sweat, and your heart grow cold; I attack the weak, but seldom too the bold._

_I cannot be bought or sold, however I am still a cruel man’s gold._

_What am I?’ - CM_

 

Running over the words soundlessly once or twice, Barry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. A small part of him was relieved that these really were riddles, straightforward and judging by size and wording alone – not difficult. However Barry wasn’t Bruce and he didn’t have the Riddler as a primary villain – he was not an expert in this sort of game. 

It was at this point Barry recalled a vital piece of information – he god damn hated riddles. 

“Barry? I think I left my damn wallet in there – could you grab it for me? I spent way too long in there already, I’m not going back in.” Interrupted by Hal’s voice from outside the door, Barry almost jumping not having realized he was that tense to begin with.

“Sure.” He wasn’t exactly keen on playing delivery boy but Barry figured he’d make Hal open all the doors from now on. Three hours in a small room against three hours opening doors – they could trade roles for a bit. At least Barry assumed Hal had been there for three hours. 

Really? All that time in this small room and Hal hadn’t done anything? A quick glance around at the simple room told Barry that if that was the case, Hal must have just sat still and waited, because nothing was touched. Knowing the hotheaded Hal Jordan, that didn’t seem quite right.

And get his wallet? That just didn’t seem to fit either. Maybe it was just the riddle circling eerily around in his brain, but Barry began to feel uneasy.

“Hey Hal.” Calling out to the occupied lantern, Barry kept his gaze on the dingy little room. “How long were you in here for?”

No answer.

“Hal?” Now Barry turned to look back out the door, worried that his friend was going to vanish back into thin air.

A chill ran down Barry’s spine when he found Hal standing practically on his heels, staring down at him coldly. “So you found it?” Hal murmured, glancing at the riddle in Barry’s hands before a soft sigh slipped from his mouth, followed immediately by a smile. “Finally.”

It happed too fast for Barry to even see it really unfold in front of him – it was rather jarring to be the one on the other end of that sort of speed for once. In a flash of yellow Barry was tossed out of the little room and back into the hallway by what he could only assume was one of Hal’s constructs.

As his body slammed back against the far wall, jammed painfully between a door and the wall, Barry’s mind flooded with too many questions to count.

Each breath burned as he forced it down, slumped against the wall as he watched Hal slowly exit the room after him – ring glowing brightly in the empty corridor. It was glowing the wrong colour – a vibrant bright yellow hue surrounded Hal as opposed to the correct green shade that he always wore.

“Why do your…” Barry gasped, struggling to grit the words out after being winded. “…powers work?”

Perhaps it was not the most important question at that exact moment but Barry had been cut clean off from the speed force and Hal – yellow or not – had complete control over his powers. Excuse Barry for feeling a bit cheated.

Hal didn't offer up an explanation as he approached Barry’s aching body, another yellow construct forming as he drew closer. Barry’s vision was a little unfocused, having sustained a pretty substantial blow to the back of his head, but even without his powers Barry was no coward nor the type to take a beating laying down. Friend or not.

So as Hal bore down on him, a yellow mallet like construct flying high up above his head as he intended to pound Barry into the ground, the speedster – or former speedster – leapt aside just as the Hal look alike threw the weapon down. Narrowly missing Barry as it landed against the door he’d been leaning against moments before. 

The door groaned and splintered under the force of the impact but behind it was nothing more than a thick wall of vines so it didn’t fully cave in. With a furious snarl the yellow clad Hal turned towards Barry, eyes flashing viciously behind his mask as they narrowed in on the crouching man. The Hal Barry knew would have said _something_. And insult, taunt or even a few curses but this Hal, whatever or whoever it was stayed mostly silent as it came at him again.

The mallet lost its solid state, becoming a bendy sort of weapon as it lashed out at Barry, once again just falling short of hitting him. Barry dearly missed his true speed – it would have kept him out of reach in this situation but as it was now, Hal might very well out run him. Fake Hal or not that was a failure he’d never live down and if Hal somehow caught wind of it – Barry would never hear the end of it.

So now he had both pride and life on the line – a bit too much to lose in his opinion.

And as the ‘not Hal’ turned on him again, yellow blasts of light firing from his ring without restraint Barry knew that he was about to be longing for the hours of door opening again, and that this was probably going to hurt – a lot.

With no cover to use in the hallways, Barry took off running in the opposite direction, hoping to lose the yellow lantern in the maze of doors and hallways. A sharp left followed by another and then a right and Barry saw the yellow glow growing dimmer with distance. The not Hal was still chasing him but Barry had enough speed in him naturally to give the man a run for his money.

As Barry went skidding around another corner, narrowly missing a blast of yellow that threatened to nip at the back of his neck as it flew past, the Hal thing finally started to speak. If this was an improvement or not was debatable.

“Why are you running?” It asked in his friend’s voice, turning the corner only second after to see Barry dashing off behind another. “Can’t you fight?”

Opting to do the smart thing and refuse to answer Barry instead focused on finding anything that looked even remotely different to everything else. The Crooked Man promised there was  a way out to every single challenge and at first Barry assumed that meant finding the right door before he died of boredom but it seemed now he’d unleashed a little bit of ‘incentive’.

How was he suppose to know if the doors were duds of not with not Hal so close on his tail? He could barely spare the a glance let alone check them. And all the while Hal’s familiar voice followed him, a voice he trusted so well becoming unfamiliar and warped with spite. 

“Without your speed you’re unable to be a hero aren’t you? Without it you’re not the Flash, not even able to protect yourself – let alone others.” Gritting his teeth Barry fought back the spike of annoyance and frustration the comments caused and focused on his running and breathing.

There had to be a way out, there had to be a solution to this. If it turned out CM was a liar and this was all some cruel trap that had no way out, Barry wouldn't be surprised but at the same time he held onto the slim hope that the man really loved his games more than he loved seeing people suffering and there was a reasonable way to best this problem.

That was when Barry remembered the riddle stuffed deep into his pocket. Knowing he had to find an answer to the riddle and pass the challenge – presuming the challenge was the cranky not Hal over there – he needed to somehow fend off a yellow lantern and solve a riddle all without his speed.

 _There’s no possible way_! Barry furiously thought as he took another corner, noticing that the not Hal was further behind now – apparently flying wasn’t as fast as Barry had first thought. 

While Barry was internally lamenting the situation, a small niggling memory began to crawl up his spine and take control of his thoughts. Bruce’s training came to mind – hadn’t he said something like this himself. That they had to be prepared to be in a situation where powers were not in the equation. 

Batman…he’d have no problem with this and he’d never had a superpower in his life, so why was Barry running scared? If Bruce could do it, if Bruce believed that Barry could do it – then he’d just have to do it.

Powers like theirs were a gift but it was not who they were, it could not be all they were, and so with Bruce’s scathing but helpful voice in the back of his mind, Barry slammed on the brakes just around another corner and waited.

Hal had fallen behind somewhat and even though Barry was panting heavily after his little sprint around the maze, he was still thrumming with adrenaline. This person wasn’t Hal but they had Hal’s powers and Barry knew best how to get the upper hand on Hal at the best of times and this person, this thing was a yellow lantern. They lacked will.

 _Come on Allen. Think, what’s the answer to the riddle_? Barry’s mind was racing at a speed Barry almost forgot he had, repeating the words over and over again looking for something he could have missed, some sort of trick to the words or choice of phrasing.

Before he had an answer not Hal was rounding the corner and Barry had to momentarily abandon his search for an answer as this too priority. In a single fluid, practiced motion Barry lashed out and landed one punch square across not Hal’s jaw. Without waiting he followed up with another and then a hit to the stomach and then one more uppercut to the face when not Hal bent inward around the gut punch.

In a matter of seconds the yellow lantern was thrown onto his back by Barry, no superpowers involved and a familiar sense of satisfaction welled up inside of Barry.

“See pal, I don’t need my speed to run circles around you.” Pride always came before a fall and almost as quickly as Barry had, not Hal retaliated. 

A yellow rope lashed out at Barry’s feet, knocking him clean off the ground and onto his back. The rope wasted no time in wrapping him up in a constricting bind. Barry struggled but it seemed like even the smallest twitch caused the rope to tighten around him – slowly crushing the air from Barry’s lungs. 

Scarcely seconds later, the owner of the construct was on Barry, foot pressed down on his chest in an action that was more symbolic than it was tactical. The not Hal had a sneer plastered to his face as he held the ropes that kept Barry trapped up proudly. The triumph and glee on his friends face looked familiar and out of place – it was malicious and not at all mischievous like the Hal that he knew. It was frightening really. 

“Got you.” Not Hal chimed in a sing song tone, tugging on the ropes cruelly with one hand and pressing harder into Hal’s chest with his foot. Barry bit back a sound of pain and managed a glare at Hal. “And now you’ll stay here with me – _forever_.”

As Barry lay there, he cursed the colour on Hal, cursed it for the colour that Reverse Flash and Sinestro’s lanterns wore. Like somehow yellow was the true villain behind all the horrors in his life.

What was it with the colour yellow haunting them constantly?

Then it clicked. In a single obvious thought Barry’s mind found the answer it was looking for. Yellow, the answer was right in front of him – CM had literally given him the answer in his attacker. A man clad in the colour yellow – _a cruel man’s gold._

“Fear…” The word slipped out in a disbelieving whisper, partly because breathing had become difficult. The not Hal recoiled as if the word had physically harmed him, face twisting into something like dread and then anger.

“What?” He snared, the ropes tightening once again but it felt halfhearted and Barry could see the yellow lantern’s hand trembling.

“You know Hal, actual Hal, _my_ Hal – not you – once told me that Sinestro’s lanterns were particularly troubling because they were cruel. But he also said that they were weak because they suffered from their own power. They lacked the will to control the thing that gave them strength – sound about right to you, shaky?”

“Sh-Shut up! You're weak without your powers, just shut up! Be quiet and behave – I won, so you have to say here as the loser!” Not Hal’s voice trembled even as he tried to be intimidating and Barry responded with a smug smile. 

“Fear. The answer to your riddle is _fear_.”

Just like that a switch was flipped and not Hal practically leapt away from Barry. He stumbled back a few pathetic spaces as the ground began to tremor and shake violently. Then in a single terrible roar the ground pried itself open, crumbling into a large seemingly endless gaping hole. Barry recalled having fallen into the first room, remembered CM’s mocking advice to watch his hands and feet.

The doors that had been useless to Barry over all began to crack and fall away into the continuously widening mouth of the void. Those that did not share the fate of falling into the darkness instead began to shatter and fall to the ground as though they’d been made of nothing but glass this entire time – it seemed that after having cleared CM’s first trial the world he’d crafted for it was falling in on itself.

Barry felt no need to stick around and watch it decay.

Grinning Barry approached the hole without hesitation, only then did it seem that not Hal remembered he had a job – likely to kill Barry. “No!” He roared, reaching out for Barry but only catching at empty space as the scarlet speedster took a single careless step into the gaping hole. With a small, taunting salute, Barry vanished down into the darkness with not Hal’s furious shouts following after him.

As Barry fell through the darkness and down towards what he assumed was another game, he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that he had to be alone again. He knew it was a childish, selfish desire but Barry had dearly wanted to see Hal again and even though that person hadn’t turned out to be his friend – for a moment Barry was happy just to see him.

He was too old to be missing friends like that, and there were more important things to focus on. Regardless, Barry quietly hoped that when this was all over, Hal might at least find some time to be back on earth and Barry could tell him all about how stupid he looked in yellow.


	4. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Batman.  
> If you see any problems or mistakes please do tell me. I need to know.

A whole day had passed, not a peep from Central City’s scarlet speedster.

Batman was not one to claim concern easily or readily but even he knew that the expression on his ridged face would be starting to give him away. Perhaps it was Clark’s insistence that he play the roll of a protective big brother and check up on the other hero, or maybe it was the sense of unease curling in his gut like a familiar infestation.

Of course he’d been keeping track of Central City, Bats kept loose tabs on every known city with a hero – Gotham was his priority but Batman didn’t necessarily intend to leave the rest of the world to burn. Regardless of if he liked it or not, being part of the Justice League made him responsible for the whole earth, every corrupt inch of it and beyond that Bats had other obligations to fulfill.

Promises he made, words he gave – things that, left unattended, would result in him becoming a dishonest man. True enough Batman had deceit in his bones and Bruce Wayne had secrets in abundance – but Thomas Wayne’s son had not been raised to have a word worth less than trash. Batman had to keep the promises he made to the best of his ability.

That was why the silence from Barry Allen had started to disturb him deeply. Bruce had a hand in Central City that he was required to play even if he would have preferred to keep well out of it. He’d trusted Barry to look after one brother, and the other was a difficult situation no matter which angle Batman looked at it. But even now he withheld judgment of the younger Monochrome boy – many things he was but a killer? Bruce wasn’t sold on the idea. 

This thought occupied his mind as he sat hunched over the work desk he’d been stationed at for the past two shifts at the watchtower. He could be accused of being over zealous and perhaps a little too ready to dig into areas that could be considered completely coincidental rather than intentional.

But as Batman sat there, looking between the screen in front of him and the physical papers he’d gathered on the strange deaths occurring in Central City – he couldn't help but find his faith in coincidence lacking.

“Still here Bats?” He tried not to show his frustration show, not allowing himself the weakness to wince when he heard the Lantern approaching him. Sometimes it could be hard to pinpoint the man’s arrival when he spent more time floating than he did walking but Batman had made a point to never let Hal Jordan sneak up on him. Clark said it was pride, Bruce said it was necessity. 

Gently the Green Lantern landed, his footfalls surprisingly soft for a man as brash as the ace. If only his words could be kept so subdued.  “Meeting ended two hours ago.” He noted, pointing out the obvious as though it was of importance. “Shouldn’t you be back in your cave?” 

Comments like that could be perceived as rude but Batman didn’t detect any spite in the man’s tone, more curiosity than anything else. Curiosity and great amounts of weariness. Hal didn’t say it but he must have been aching all over. His troubles off planet had been growing to a state of emergency, and yet he’d still made it back to the home land to attend a standard League meeting. Bruce theorized there was a better reason behind that besides simple duty, Jordan was not known to stick to rules and regulations closely after all. 

“I have work to do here.” Batman replied stonily while quietly and subtly reaching to change the monitor over to something related to Gotham. He was not keeping secrets, this was simply a precaution. Jordan and Allen were close – closer than Bruce sometimes thought was wise, but it meant neither would fail to go to the aid of the other. The last thing Bruce wanted was to rile up Hal – especially when his plights in the other sectors of space seemed genuinely important.

From what little Hal said and what Bruce could dig up, there was some sort of political issues being carried out on Oa. Something about a rogue lantern or even some sort of uprising – all to do with colour no less. Were he a less disciplined man, Bruce might have made a joke out of the underlining racist feel to the idea. Obviously he was not so childish as to dumb down dangerous situations to schoolyard jokes – still, one did wonder why yellow lanterns were so loathed by the green. Perhaps there was something in there – but Bruce highly doubted it.

Thankfully Jordan noticed nothing and seemed more occupied fidgeting with his uniform. Bruce was content to say nothing more but it only took a few seconds for Hal’s real question to come tumbling out. 

“Hey, where is Flash?”

Momentarily Batman paused, fingers lingering over the keys he’d intended to punch in for a few seconds. The answer to that question was one that Bruce would have very much liked to have. But as it was he didn’t know.

“He wasn’t in the meeting today?” Hal continued slowly, as if more prompting would get the dark knight talking. “I mean…he’s tardy but he must have called you ahead of time or you’d be livid right now right?”

Jordan had first hand experience on just how ‘livid’ Bats could be when someone skipped out on important meetings. Standard or not, it was important members attend when called unless they were busy doing something just as important. Sometimes Hal had good excuses, like an old friend and mentor turning into a criminal and trying to kill him, other times he had substandard answers – like a faulty alarm clock.

Barry Allen could be and was frequently late, but to miss a whole meeting without so much as a peep? It _was_ unusual and it was beginning to crawl up Bruce’s spine in a disconcerting way.

Of course Batman had promptly tried to get in contact with the Flash. He’d used the League summons first, when that failed he’d moved onto the private number they shared – that was just as fruitless. More time passed and Batman resorted to the civilian number Barry had given him when he first took in Noire – the number he used to call when his parenting skills fell flat. Nothing there either.

Bruce had, perhaps a little hastily, tried Barry’s landline and even phoned into his place of work under the guise of an old friend. Neither were successful and the call into the police department revealed he hadn’t been seen since he ran out in a rush the day before – shouting something about a lead as he went. The office had named the time as only five minutes before Flash’s encounter with Monochrome White.

Clark’s request for him to check on the two Central City boys the day earlier had rung hollow in his head, a small frustrating guilt he refused to dwell on but could never fully shake. Bruce had decided to get to Barry through a third party, he tried to contact Noire. This was a more difficult endeavor simply because the boy didn't have a phone on him. Noire didn’t seem to like the devices and even though Barry worried about him not having a way to call, the boy refused them. Bruce decided that petty behavior would soon be taught out of the boy once he had the chance. 

Still Bruce tried, contacting Noire’s place of work and education. His place of work said he wasn’t around and wouldn’t be on shift until the following weekend, the school bore slightly more success. A lovely young girl at the reception desk had told Bruce a little too easily about Noire’s recent whereabouts. According to her he’d shown up at the school briefly that day, but had promptly been sent home because he was ‘sickly’.

Try as he might not to, Bruce had been concerned when he heard this. His rational mind suggested that the fight with his little brother had left him weakened and sick as it so often did, but the rest of him was beginning to wonder why he had a hero missing and another in a injured state and somehow was still left with no answers.

“Haven’t you tried to contact him?” Bruce replied finally, tone flat and without a hint of accusation in it and yet Hal still reacted as if he’d been struck by the innocent question. 

“Of course I have!” Hal snarled, a little too defensive for Bruce not to take notice. “I…I’ve been off planet, so I haven’t been able to take his calls in a while – that’s all.”

Oh, that explained a lot. Barry had been mentioning for a while now that Hal seemed to be avoiding his calls and texts but Bruce hadn’t realized that the lantern was aware of his own behavior. That did agitate the dark knight a little. They were not children; there was no need for this petty argument.

Swivelling abruptly in his chair to face the startled League member, Batman fixed him with a familiar scowl and noted how Hal tensed under it. Guilt was perhaps the worst emotion for Hal to feel, seeing as there was no one left to blame, no excuse to hide behind and should he try to smother the blame under some flimsy words, he’d still feel guilt clinging to his back like a curse. Batman knew that feeling and he knew men would ark up and fight against it, no one wanted to be in the wrong. Hal Jordan was no exception.

“If you had – you’d know why he is not here.” The wording made it seem like Batman had answers he didn't but Bruce didn’t bother to amend the implication – leaving it hanging in the air as a true accusation. “Lantern, you’ve been off planet for a number of weeks now. Contact with you has been impossible, the Flash has been keeping an eye on your home, where you should be guarding. All this could be forgiven if you’d just enlighten us to your situation.”

“Oh, like you’re so sharing spooky!” Hal shot back furiously, Bruce could practically see the anger causing his fists to clench and tremble. “You never tell us anything but you expect me to unload everything onto you!?”

“We are your team mates! If you’re not clean with us you could jeopardize a mission.” Batman’s voice became harsher, more a growl than anything else as he stood from his seat, approaching the uneasy lantern. Hal almost looked like he intended to defend himself against an attack that would never come – although no one would put it past Batman to strike the troublesome lantern.

“When have you ever been honest with any of us?” If Hal knew he’d hit a sore spot or not Bruce wasn’t sure, but the man barreled on ahead regardless. This was giving him frustrating flashbacks to his chat with Clark. “You just go on your own merry way, keeping everything to yourself until it suits you. Where do you get off lecturing me about dishonesty?”

“I do not go running off planet and cut off all possible source of contact.” Bruce retorted soundly, only to have Hal get in his face and make a valiant effort to smother the notion. 

“Bullshit you don’t, Spooky! You retreat back into that cesspool of a city and ban any of us from coming in or disturbing you from your work, all the god damn time.”

Batman really hated it when others had a point in an argument, however after having lived with a number of robins in his time and constantly having Alfred’s firm, level headed counter arguments – he’d learnt to deal with it.

“The Joker--” He began only to have Hal rudely cut across him as he so often would.

“Yeah I get it. Gotham has a lot of dangerous lunatics, but you know what? I have my share of that as well – you think I want to tell Barry all about Sinestro, huh? Tell him about how dangerous and god damn painful it is to fight the man that was my friend? You think I want to involve anyone with _my_ problems?”

It was one of those truly rare moments when Bruce realized his own feelings might just be mirrored in one of his teammates. Despite Hal’s instance he didn’t want to burden anyone with his troubles as a lantern, Bruce couldn't help but think Hal desperately wanted to seek out the help of his team – of his friends. To confide in them, just to let off steam – something to make the burden seem less unbearable.

To share it between the team.

Bruce sometimes wanted that to, but it was a luxury neither could afford. That moment of selfishness could leave a heavy burden on their colleagues, both knew that was not an option. Briefly Clark flashed through Bruce’s mind, his readiness to share any troubles Bruce might have, to give a hand where needed and then in the same turn he to didn’t want to trouble Bruce.

It only really hit the Batman right then and there, with a green lantern caught between rage and sadness in front of him, that every single one of them had the same problem. They were all willing to help, more than happy to do what they could for the others – but no one wanted to trouble the others. They all stood happily ready to help but no one would ever ask. 

Because heroes should not need saving – that was their mentality.  
But sometimes everyone needed some saving. 

Finally, after having been stuck on his choice for hours, Bruce knew that he had to go and find Barry himself. If the trouble Barry had found was going to hurt civilians he would have contacted them – called out in order to protect others. But if Barry had run into trouble that only hurt him – he’d fight it alone. Because it was in their nature to bear all their troubles in silence, to protect others.

Even now, Bruce planned to seek out Barry alone – without telling anyone else of the potential trouble. Realizing that he was feeding into a concept that made no sense, Bruce stepped away from Hal – a very clear back down. For his part the lantern looked shocked to see the withdrawal from the fight – not accustomed to Bruce stepping down first, or at all. 

“Green Lantern.” Batman began slowly, tone steady and quiet. “The Flash has not contacted anyone since yesterday after he disappeared during a fight with one of his villains.” Hal tensed but said nothing, knowing to remain silent when Batman’s information tone was in use. “We haven’t heard from him, no one has seen him – Monochrome Black has not been heard from either after their scuffle with White. It is likely that there is a problem.”

“Now this could be as simple as the Flash licking his wounds at home or having been greatly injured, however I feel as though he would have made contact with us and if he did not – his ward would have. As such…” Bruce paused, feeling himself about to go against his ingrained instincts. The urge to lock lantern out, to do this one his own was great but when he thought about where that’d gotten them so far – Bruce pushed past it.

“I would like you to accompany me to Central City to locate him.”

The shock on Hal’s face said it all, no mask or cowl could hide that massive change in expression. During Bruce’s little spiel he’d shown anger, concern and maybe some fear – he worried for Barry, but ultimately surprise won out over all else. When Hal said nothing, still at a loss for words, Bruce spoke again and for once it was not the intimidating rumble of Batman speaking – it was the man under the mask, or at least what was left of him.

“The difference between _your_ problems and _our_ problems is nothing more than a choice Lantern. Perhaps we all need to think about that from time to time.” 

When it was genuinely a relief to see Hal’s shit eating grin return, Bruce internally groaned. Glad to see a familiar expression but frustrated to deal with the onslaught of comments it would bring with it.

“You inviting me to go with you? So what you’re saying Spooky…is that I am right?” Hal’s grin grew impossibly wider at the notion.

“Not even _close_ Lantern.”

“Aw, come on Spooks! Admit it, I made a good point didn’t I? Come on, just say it and I’ll leave you alone.” Bruce had already started to stalk away when Hal followed after him with more mocking comments on hand. He hadn’t said yes or not to coming to Central City but Batman knew that Green Lantern would come. 

Because for a little while at least this small problem that might belong solely to Barry Allen, would become their problem as well. 

“Don’t push your luck.”

 

  
…

…

 

 

When Barry hit the ground, he hit _hard_.

Considerably harder than he had when entering the first stage, Barry liked to think this rough handling had more to do with CM getting frustrated with his progress as opposed to gravity doing its job. Always nice to know you were under the enemies skin.

That didn’t help to ease his burning face after having landed flat on his stomach. From where he lay flat ont eh ground like a miserable Barry shaped pancake, the speedster let out a long suffering groan. Just as the wretched sound slipped from his lips, a gentle pressure landed atop his head and without need to look he knew it’d be another message.

Reaching up with one hand Barry snatched the paper off his head before heaving his whole body onto his back with an accompanying sound of discomfort. When he thought he had enough air in his lungs and strength in his arms, Barry lifted the paper up to his face.

‘ _Congratulations Barry Allen – you successfully passed stage one_.’

“Lucky me.” Barry mumbled dryly, twirling his finger in the air in mock celebration. He half expected the note to end there but it had an unexpected add on.

‘ _But I do wonder – why didn’t you kill the fake_?’ –CM 

Briefly Barry paused on the question, it seemed like it was obvious enough – heroes do not kill. Superman stood by that ideology, as did their own dark knight – so why would the Flash be any different?

Slowly Barry righted himself, trying to fend off the impending headache that came with such a painful drop. He dreaded seeing more doors, more endless hours of searching through dead ends – instead the sight caused his breath to catch in his throat. Barry was staring into the familiar streets of Central City.

He was staring through glass, but that was definitely his city, his home. Almost in awe Barry pressed his hands flat against the glass that separated him from the city he loved so dearly. Distantly he thought of his family and friends out there, thought of their day and the little things they’d be doing. Barry wondered if they’d be mad that he’d been gone without a word for so long.

His captain would certainly have his ass for the stunt he pulled at the station yesterday. Patty would tease but only after she was positive that he was safe and sound – maybe Iris would come looking for him? Maybe Noire was out there to, would he be worried about Barry or would he be pleased to have him gone after their argument?

As these thoughts swarmed through his head, Barry became distinctly aware of someone else in the room. The soft sounds of footsteps and light breathing tipped him off and Barry half expected to find another fake Hal ready to tear him in two when he turned to face them. So for a moment, a single stupid, self indulgent moment – Barry didn’t turn. 

Instead he looked out at his city and thought of everyone in it. The friends and family he knew so well, the rogues and other criminals that kept popping up to cause trouble but still called Central City home with a similar fondness that Barry did. Sometimes Barry wondered if they would protect it like he did should an outsider attack – the rogues did have the strangest codes and mentalities.

Thinking whatever monster CM had sent this time would respond for the man, Barry spoke in a curious tone. “You asked why I didn’t kill the fake – that’s obvious right? I’m a hero, I’m the Flash – I do not kill. Fake or otherwise, that’s a life I won’t take. Do you understand that concept Crooked--”

But as Barry turned to face whatever creature the man had sent, he found himself staring up at a familiar face. His logical reason screamed it was another fake but the shock alone kept Barry from obeying that little voice. Standing in front of him, separated by another wall of glass – was Captain Cold. 

And as Barry stared at the familiar figure in horror, Cold looked right back at him with a similar expression, except there was a touch of something softer – something sadder and more desolate. A few seconds passed without a single sound, and then slowly, unhurriedly – Cold moved.

Calmly he stepped up the rest of the way to the glass wall and placed his palms flat against it. The man did not look like the Cold Barry knew. He still had the same clothes, face and hair – his voice was probably and the same and his mannerisms would match, but this man in front of him looked crushed. Like something inside of him had been entirely snuffed out in one fell swoop. 

“Flash.” Then came his voice, breaking and muffled behind the glass. Momentarily Captain Cold’s gaze and head was bowed, fixated on the ground as he took a few calming breaths. When he looked back up at Barry he was smiling a terribly disjointed, miserable smile – an expression the real Cold would never wear. 

“Hi Barry.”

For a moment Barry’s blood ran cold – no pun intended although he still mentally scolded himself for it – when Leonard Snart spoke his name. He had no reasonable doubt that this man was another fake put up by CM but even so to hear his long-standing enemy utter his name in a tone so quiet and miserable still sent a chill down his spine. Damn it, he’d accidently made a pun again hadn’t he? 

For a moment longer Snart held Barry’s gaze before it gradually fell to the ground again and the man shook his head like he was confused. “No…that’s not right.” He muttered in frustration. “Not my lines…damn it!” The snarl that left Snart’s mouth sounded much more like the criminal he knew but that wasn’t exactly a comforting notion. 

“Riddle…” He breathed suddenly as if the thought had struck him abruptly. “Did he give it to you? Do you have the riddle?” 

It took Barry’s mind a few seconds to catch back up before he realized what Snart was after and with frustration he realized that, no, he did not have the riddle. Breathing a soft chuckle at Barry’s reaction, Snart shook his head with an amused sigh. 

“That’s my answer right there, I suppose.” Then Len sat down, folding his legs neatly as he made himself comfortable. Barry could only watch in mute confusion as the man did this. It was only when Snart turned familiar sharp eyes on him that Barry realized he’d been simply staring. “Well?” Snart demanded hotly. “What are you doing just standing there? Find it. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not exactly going to have any luck finding anything.”

After taking a moment to properly take in their current situation, Barry saw exactly what the man meant. They were both separated by a glass wall but Barry had a considerably larger amount of room, it looked like he was on the top floor of some expensive pent house – leaving a few areas to be explored. The number of doors he could see was three, and Barry comforted himself know that if only one opened he wouldn’t be looking long this time. 

Besides the other doors there was a lounge room with leather furniture and a bar set up that Snart might or might not have been eyeing enviously. For Snart’s part however, his movement was much more restricted. Left smack, bang in the middle of the room was a large glass box with nothing inside of it and no way out that Barry could see besides a few slots for air. 

Knowing that Barry had finally been clued in to his predicament, Snart snorted in derision before leaning lazily back against one of the walls of his transparent cage. “I’m not going anywhere, kid.” Snart said with a flippant wave of his hand, words soaked in condescension – just like what Barry was use to. “Better getting going quick or I might just die of boredom.” 

Barry did start to look around because one way or another he needed that riddle just as bad as Snart did, but as he moved cautiously around the room he tried to figure out what game this was. For what reason would CM lock up a fake in a glass cage like this? It could very simply be another trick like the one with Hal in that little room but this one seemed like a bad idea from step one. 

It would have helped is Snart kept his thoughts to himself while Barry thought over the angle of this approach – but the man did so love the sound of his own damn voice.

“So he caught you, huh? I’m almost jealous – looking at you now kid I never would have guessed you were the Flash. You look slower than my grandmother right now. Would have killed to have you in this position for me.” 

“You’re not helping.” Slipped the retort before Barry could help it. Talking to the fake probably wasn’t a good idea. 

“Look, I just need you to be my hands here. Can’t get out of this box till stitches up there gets his stupid riddle solved. That’s the gist of it anyway, do a man a favour?” Barry could not roll his eyes any harder at that comment and turned to toss a dirty look at Snart, as always the man seemed to thrive under his heated stare. He could wriggle his way under Barry’s skin in a way no other criminal had managed. 

“And why would I ever want to do a favor for you Snart?” Barry demanded, stalking right back up to the cage, arms crossed with a scowl plastered on his face. For some reason Snart seemed to find his angry expressions endearing more than concerning. 

“Hey now, what are heroes good for if not helping out a damsel?” If Barry didn’t know Snart was so at ease with being a ‘damsel’ he would have used that a teasing fodder, but as it stood Snart could care less what he was currently called.

Despite all that pride and cunning, Snart was not a man ruled by his ego although it certainly had a strong hand in all he did. When he was in a tight spot he knew it and when he needed help he would find it. His rogues usually provided enough but right now it was just the two of them and Snart knew he needed Barry to escape – so he’d set aside his pride for a moment and focused on that. 

Barry had to admit it was admirable. In many respects it was a trait that kept him a step ahead of the other rogues. Trying to imagine Heat Wave asking for help and even having a jab at his own expense with a smile was neigh impossible – but Snart could keep himself cool and collected. Barry cursed himself for the ever constant stream of unintentional cold jokes and was ever thankful for Snart lack of access to his thoughts. 

“Don’t try to buy my assistance with the hero card.” Barry snapped back irritably but none the less returned to his work searching for some sort of clue as to where the riddle might be or some way to free Len. All in the name of progress through this wretched game. “If you want me to help you, you’ll keep quiet and let me work.”

“Don’t mind me.” Snart replied smugly. “I’m just over here chilling.” Barry could practically feel the man smirk when he groaned at the lame pun. 

Snart rest his head back against the glass, falling silent for a few seconds while Barry searched through the living room where he was still in the man’s line of sight. Neither willing to let the other slip away for even a few seconds just yet. 

“Not sure how he got me.” Barry really could do without the running commentary and he decided not to respond while rummaging through the empty draws left around. This placed was all decked out like someone lived in it but there was not a single sign of actual life in it. It was like some sort of set, a doll house if ever Barry saw one. But that meant he’d quickly find anything that didn’t fit in. 

“Maybe he always had me.” There was a distant note to Snart’s tone that caught Barry’s attention and without meaning to he looked over at the familiar enemy with a puzzled expression. Rather than answering Barry’s unasked question, Snart shook his head as if he was chasing off nasty thoughts and gestured over to one of the three doors.

“Try that one.” He ordered calmly. “I heard him ratting around in it before you showed up – how exactly did you manage to fall through the ceiling exactly?”

“Magic? Portals or a rip in time and space – at this point I’d believe anything you throw at me.” Barry answered dryly, not entirely sure himself but at this point it was the best answer he had. 

Rightfully skeptical of Cold’s assistance, fake or not, Barry didn’t immediately jump at his suggestion and instead made a show of opening a different door first. Cold just rolled his eyes and distracted himself with adjusting the hood of his jacket instead of arguing with his enemy.

The first room was a bit of a disappointment, Barry searched high and low for anything of interest but found no riddle or usable item. He almost gave up on the room when he noticed a sneakily hidden note plastered to the ceiling. For a good few seconds Barry did nothing but stare at the paper with an frustrated scowl. When he finally decided to reach for it, Barry had to drag up a chair and balance on his tippy toes just to brush his fingers against the scrap of paper. Why were the ceilings so damn high? 

Barry made a sound of triumph when he managed to grab a firm hold of the paper, just as the chair’s balance was lost and came tumbling down, Barry and all. The racket of the chair clattering to the ground and Barry following after it with a heavy thud must had reached Snart from outside.

“Flash?” He called, not quite sounding concerned so much as threatening. “If you’re dead I’m going to be livid.” He warned but when Barry found himself too sore and humiliated by the tumble to immediately call back, some of the anger faded and was replaced with genuine worry. “Flash? Hey, answer me kid!” 

Still a little winded from the experience, Barry could only stumble his way to the doorway and wave around the scrap piece of paper that had done him in. Seeing Barry in one piece – bruised but definitely in one – Cold relaxed against the walls of his prison and smirked. “Have a little tumble did we kid?” Barry scowled in response but kept his words to himself – he needed the air.

Finally taking note of the paper Barry had clutched like a prize, Snart sat up a little straighter and gestured for Barry to come over. Which he did, cautiously of course. Once he was a few steps away from the glass box, Snart tossed him a frustrated look but given their history there was nothing he could say that would reassure Barry of his good intentions, instead he just demanded to see the paper.

“Is it the riddle?”

“No.” Barry replied, disappointment saturating the single word heavily. “It looks like a news article. Sorta old too.”

“Hmpf, not what we want…leave it there anyway.” Cold directed, pointing to a place outside of his prison. “It might not be the riddle but maybe it’s still useful for something.” 

That was the Snart Barry knew, cunning and willing to use anything to get a hand up in a fight – anything besides killing that way. Obeying wordlessly Barry laid the worn paper down in front of Snart’s room, leaving the man to his study. The criminal was so quickly engrossed in his study that Barry got away without a single scathing comment. 

Approaching the second door, the one not pointed out by Snart, Barry tried to push it open only to find that it was locked and would not wield to his pushes. “Well that’s bloody familiar.” Barry muttered under his breath in frustration. After having spent so long being disappointed by doors, Barry did not dwell on this one.

Finally he approached the final door and hesitated in front of it. Snart had singled this out as the place to go and even if he wasn’t a fake, there was every change the man was out to get him anyway. Still Barry was short on options and he had to progress one way or another, and so with a deep breath Barry grabbed hold of the door and threw it open, prepared for anything.

So when nothing happened he was almost disappointed. He stood at the ready for a few more seconds, expecting some sort of surprise attack. Only when he heard Snart scoffing behind him did Barry decide he looked silly for long enough and stepped inside. The room was actually more of ‘nothing’ than Barry could have expected. No windows, no furniture or other doorways – it was like one big empty box and for a moment Barry felt cheated. 

That was until his eye caught the gleam of metal reflected in the light steaming in from the doorway. Then Barry’s sense of being wronged dropped into a cold weight at the bottom of his stomach.

Knowing there was no other choice but forward, Barry stepped inside, sticking to the path of light made by the open door as he approached the only object in the room. When his feet were almost touching the metal object, Barry slowly dropped to his knees and gingerly reached forward to grab the piece of paper neatly left atop the item.

On one side Barry found what he’d wanted – the riddle.

‘ _What answer can you never honestly say ‘yes’ to?_ ’

For a few seconds Barry felt relieved after having found the riddle with such each but the feeling lasted all of five seconds. As on the underhand side, Barry found a message and wished he hadn’t, because the Crooked Man’s meaning was so painfully obvious. 

‘ _I asked and you said it was obvious, so I’ll tell you something obvious. This is a game made for one_.’ – CM. 

As Barry read the final line – the shine of the gun before him seemed to gleam brighter still.

 

 

 


	5. Are you or am I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at all these updates.

Barry knew that Snart was calling out for him, knew that the man was trying to get his attention to find out what was taking so bloody long. But Barry couldn’t find the words to answer, instead he sat there – the weight of the gun in his hands was almost comforting. Solid, real – and very much a path to freedom judging by what Barry knew of CM.

The pounding in his chest had almost become painful, and the static that had become the only comprehensible sound buzzing in his head all but blocked out Snart’s attempts to reach him. But despite all the chaos in his mind – Barry still knew that this meant, it was inescapable.

“Why this?” Barry asked finally, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he spoke, because he already knew where this was going. Already knew the man’s game but didn’t want to believe it.

A gun was almost something of a taboo item in many respects for a Justice League member. Sure Cyborg could be considered a walking gun but the league used non-lethal means to fight their battles. Barry could just imagine the expression that Bruce would put on if he saw Barry handling the weapon. Clumsily Barry had tried to check it, to see if there was a catch. Something like a lack of bullets or maybe it was entirely fake. No matter how thoroughly he inspected the gun it had all the right pieces he thought a gun would need.

With every passing second Barry’s heart fell deeper into his stomach, knowing he’d have to take this back out to Snart in his prison along with the message he’d gotten and from there they’d need to figure out what to do. This was one of those situation where being stuck with a super villain as your only ally was not a good situation to be in. Although Barry struggled to think of a situation where that scenario would be better – he was coming up blank. 

CM remained infuriatingly silent and Barry had to force his heavy limbs to finally move. Again he reminded himself that one way or another they’d be forced to make progress but this… 

The weight of the gun seemed to grow heavier with every passing second but Barry rationalized with himself that he’d never use it. Despite knowing this, the simply implications of being given the item were not lost on Barry.

When he emerged from the side room, Barry’s gaze immediately fell on Snart. The man was still observing the scrap of paper he’d been brought by Barry earlier but it seemed he’d been waiting impatiently for the younger man’s return as well. Looking up with a frustrated scowl on his face when Barry finally reappeared. There was obviously a witty comment on the tip of the man’s tongue, it died quickly when his sharp eyes narrowed in on the gun.

A moment of tense silence passed between them where Barry didn't dare take one more step towards Snart in his cell. He worried the approach could be mistaken for an intent to actually start trying to unload bullets into him. Then finally the criminal let out a shallow laugh.

“Wow scarlet.” He whistled low, somehow the sound was packed to breaking point with the same condescension he directed at Barry when speaking normally. “Never thought I’d see you handling a thing like that. Sure you’re not going to hurt yourself kid?” Barry instinctively bristled in anger, he and Cold were both adults – he had no right to call him kid and mock him about guns. Although Barry had to admit that he wasn’t comfortable with the gun in his hands, the fear of shooting himself in the foot by accident felt very real right then.

All mocking comments aside, Snart looked a little uneasy. He was a quick man, almost quicker than Barry’s brain worked even at its top speed, so it was no surprise when Barry could practically see the clogs whirling inside his enemy’s head. Cold wouldn’t need an explanation, no doubt he already had a fair idea what the Crooked Man had in mind.

“So.” Snart’s calm tone caught Barry by surprise, there was a darker note to his voice but it wasn’t threatening – more accepting. “How many bullets? Did you check Red?” The nicknames weren’t helping but Barry didn’t have the heart to pull him up on it.

Instead his eyes slowly dropped down to the gun in his hands, running over every crevice and detail again. Hoping it’d turn out to be nothing more than a sick joke. When it did not magically become a toy gun, Barry reluctantly opened his mouth to answer Snart – probably with a lie – when the air around them crackled with a sudden electrical vibe. In a matter of seconds the air seemed to spark into life, the unnatural feeling followed quickly by a familiar voice.

“One bullet Mr. Snart.” Both Barry and Snart reacted in the same way, jumping closer to the middle of the room and one another as they sought out the owner of the voice. Barry knew he wouldn’t seen the Crooked Man in person but he looked all the same. “I’m sure I don't need to explain why.”

The sound that slipped out of Snart’s mouth was nothing short of feral, the vicious snarl catching Barry more off guard that CM’s sudden appearance had.

“Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” The venom Snart was using to speak with was strange to listen to when it was directed at someone other than Barry. For once it was a relief to not be the target of that spiteful tone.

“You always were a very clever one Mr. Snart. However I think you may have forgotten a very crucial detail in all of this.” 

Not a second after CM had spoken, a hatch at the top of Snart’s glass cage popped open and a small drizzle of water began to come cascading down from the ceiling. The water nearly hit Snart who hastily pulled himself out of its path and up against the furthest wall away from it. Judging by his expression Snart must have thought it was poison rather than water pouring form the ceiling.

“Now, now, you have plenty of time to make a choice. Both of you.” Barry was suddenly the focus of CM’s games; the doors he’d been checking out earlier were suddenly ripped clean out of the wall, replaced by more smooth wallpaper, leaving him in a box not unlike Cold’s. Quickly Barry tried to get his bearings, looking for any sign of his own water source somewhere. Instead CM laughed at him and corrected his line of thought. 

“Mr. Allen – once time is up your room will fill with a poisonous gas. But look at it like this – at least you’ll be dry when you die.” All CM got for his morbid sense of humor was a matching pair of dry glares. 

“Of course, that’s only if you don’t make a choice.” CM added, tone turning cheery as he talked about the inevitable end of this game. “When you’re ready Mr. Allen, you can use that gun or give it to Mr. Leonard Snart there. I’ll open a small slot for you to pass it in should you decide to hand over the gun. Should you hand over the gun and Snart chooses to use it, I’ll open up some holes for him to shoot through. The glass itself won’t break if you shoot it, so I think you two best hold onto that one bullet.” 

Barry’s gaze turned down to his hands and the gun in them, feeling his chest tightening. CM wanted one of them to shoot the other. “I’d say you’d have maybe…twenty-five minutes? Good luck gentleman, may the worst man win.”

Just like that he left them alone, static that had accompanied his voice vanishing with him and Barry was left to stare at Len. Trapped in a box, waiting for his life to dribble away with every drop of water that fell into the container. For his part Snart seemed to be surprisingly calm, furious but calm. It was the cold rage that Barry knew so well – it wasn’t comforting here either.

“Ha.” Scoffing bitterly Snart eased himself off the glass wall, kicking at the water with a small slosh. “Looks like he got us good…” Snart didn’t look at him, didn’t meet Barry’s gaze as he instead stared intently at the water. Whatever was going on in Snart’s head was a mystery to Barry, and he did not expect the amused chuckle the man released a few seconds later. 

“Hey kid, c’mere. Leave that gun on the ground.” His instructions confused Barry who had expected the man to demand the gun or at least try to reason with Barry to give it to him. Noting Barry’s surprise, Snart’s smile turned smug and mocking. “He said twenty-five minutes, right? That gives us twenty minutes to chat.” 

“What could you possibly want to talk about with _me_ , Snart?” His tongue felt thick in his throat, the words coming out clumsily as he approached the cage. There was the unsettling sense of dread in his stomach that told Barry someone was about to die. Neither of them had any escape, not with this man who seemed to have complete control over this world, without any doors or clues to use – someone would be using that gun or they’d both die. 

“Well are you still interested in that ‘side game’ of yours? Hmpf, don’t give me that look kid – Crooked Man loves to talk, of course he mentioned your pursuit for information. Tell you what, I’ll tell you what I know and in return you tell me why. Why you wanted to know about him at all.” It took Barry a few seconds to realize that Snart was serious. He genuinely wanted to chat a few minutes before one of them was scheduled to die.

Perhaps it was cowardice that made Barry take a seat in front of the glass cage, fear driving him to avoid the inevitable for at least twenty minutes with Snart. For a few minutes they could both pretend that at least one of them was not about to be dead. “Deal.” He replied hollowly, Barry could see Snart glaring at him, like his pitiful tone was getting under the man’s skin. Rather that belittling Barry for his gloomy atmosphere, Snart instead gestured carelessly to the scrap of paper Barry had brought him.

“You were right, it’s a news clipping from at least a decade ago. Talks about some rich family situated in the Gotham. I mostly stuck to Central City but I’d heard of them – never made the trip to personally acquire their belongings, but we kept tabs on all potential heists.” Without meaning to, Barry’s face twisted up into a judging glare and Snart laughed at the familiar look. “Hey, I didn’t even rob them kid. Chill.” 

“But you were thinking about it!” Barry countered quickly.

“Can’t convict a man for thoughts Barry or we’d all be out in the cold. Even you – you gotta have some interesting thoughts bouncing around that numbskull of yours.” He absolutely did not dignify that with an answer and Snart was happy enough to go along without one. They were both feeling the essence of time after all.

“Point is I kept close tabs on that bunch. Rotten from what I gathered – rich as all buggery but completely heartless. Perfect stereotype of Gotham. Most people at least donate a bit to charity to keep up good appearances – these people were more likely to close an orphanage just to profit from it. In fact they almost did just that.” While Snart was talking, Barry leant over to have a look at the faded news clipping.

The picture on the front showed a middle-aged couple standing stoic out front of a rather unsightly mansion. It was something Bruce Wayne would even call too grim, sharp spikes and dark colours everywhere the eye could see. The couple wasn't much better, faces angular and chiseled into permanently sharp, unfriendly features. Neither looked happy and they absolutely did not look like they were in love – but the article claimed they were the most loving people in the Gem cities as they’d been the owners of a children’s home in the city. 

“I remember when they tried to close the place down.” Snart’s voice caught Barry’s attention again, the grim, disgusted tone sounded a little strange coming from a convicted criminal. “That article talks all about how great they are for having the damn place, but everyone knew it was a rubbish children’s home, made for profit not pity. When it didn’t make any more money they tried to change it into something that would make a better profit. The children were just collateral damage. Probably wanted to make it into something illegal as well, knowing that family.”

“What happened to the kids?” Snart glanced his way, that mocking look fixed on his face again, as if Barry was just another bleeding heart. But it was a honestly good question.

“It got bought by the highest bidder instead – turns out they opted to keep it as children’s home and they actually made it livable. Some rich type out at Gotham. I’m not sure exactly how ‘livable’ they really did make it – but it wasn’t any of my business beyond that point so I stopped paying attention.”

“Why leave this clipping to find?” Barry murmured curiously, running his fingers over the rough paper. “Do you think he was one of the orphans that lived there?”

“Who knows.” Snart sighed, sounding very much like it bothered him to not know. He didn’t take enemies lightly – liked to study up and know what he was dealing with and just like Barry it frustrated him to be in the dark. “But now for your end of the bargain kid. Why do you care?” When Barry hesitated, Snart smirked and added. “A secret stays a secret when the only other person that knows is dead.”

“That’s not funny Snart!” Barry snapped furiously and for once it seemed they were in agreement.

“Call me Len. If we're going to be in a situation like this, the least you can do is drop the last name.” Surprised, Barry stared up at Sna-- _Len_. The older man didn’t return his stare and instead opted to look at the stream of water falling into his glass box. The lingering gaze reminded Barry of just how grim the situation really was – if Len wanted to know why he was interested, Barry could give him at least a little bit of satisfaction.

“He’s supposed to be dead.”

Snart perked up at that answer, glancing over his shoulder at Barr with a lifted brow. Barry snorted, lacking the ability to properly laugh when he felt this pitiful. 

“Put a bullet right between his eyes. Fell from the seventh floor.” Barry repeated the familiar phrase in a dry tone, staring at the ground under his feet when he said it. “That’s what I was told. He died a long time ago, they pulled his body from the rubble and everything – he shouldn’t exist.”

“Yet here he is.” Len’s flat voice sounded tired even to his own ears. “But you’re telling me all this interest is just to find out about a dead man walking?”

“Not exactly.” This was where Barry became uncomfortable. Talking with a super villain about anything sensitive was generally a bad idea but this was not the topic of secret identities or anything quite so sensitive. Even if it had been, Len had known who he was for a long time now and had still not revealed his secret to the rest of his merry band of criminals.

But this wasn’t about Barry so much as it was about his ward, about Noire. 

“He…” A deep breath. “The Crooked Man, the real Crooked Man – killed Black’s mother.”

The words hang heavy between the two of them for a few seconds before Barry was ready to continue. Snart knew Monochrome Black as just that, not Noire so there was a small identity to keep secret but in all honesty he probably figured out Noire was Black seeing as Barry and Noire lived together. If he did know, he had the good sense not to say so. 

“He died the same day he killed her, Black never got the chance to consider revenge or hunting him down. He never had to go looking for the man who ruined his life – he never had that burden. I wanted to keep it that way. If this man is really the same person from back then…I don’t want Black to find out about it.” 

Barry thought of his mother’s death, the crime his father was sent to jail for and the toxic childhood it had given him. Barry remembered sleepless nights and blinding anger when he couldn’t find out who had really done it and then finally he recalled the day he met the man who claimed responsibility. He didn't want Noire to experience any of these feelings – not a single one of them. 

“Ah, so this if the guy that did it.” Snart murmured almost sagely. “I wondered why his name rang a bell.”

“What do you mean? You know him?” Of course that surprised Barry, CM was only around for one day so the odds of him and Snart having anything to do with one another was near zero. He wasn't even a Central City villain to begin with – CM was reportedly closer to Gotham.

“No. I have a… _colleague_ who has had experiences with him.” The grim smile on Len’s face almost told Barry the answer before Len cleared it up. “After all, White and Black have the same mother. Didn’t realize this bastard was the guy White mentioned to me.” Well now Barry was positive that Len knew Black and Noire were the same person if he knew White. 

Barry had been vaguely aware that Cold and White would occasionally team up or exchange info but to think of the two just talking – especially about something as heavy as the death of a loved one. It just didn’t seem to fit. Barry was going to ask but Len looked troubled now and he found himself staring at Captain Cold’s unguarded face. 

He almost looked concerned. Like he was wondering what White would feel knowing the man who murdered his mother was back from the grave. Did Captain Cold worry about that sort of thing? Was he capable of that base level of compassion? Barry wasn’t sure, but there it was on the man’s face plain as day.

Slowly Len looked down at his hand and then the water that was slowly rising on his body, then back to his palm. Slowly he flexed the fingers, as if remembering something in the muscles. Barry caught his lips moving but there was no sound, it seemed like Len was mouthing a secret to himself, something he felt was important. Barry caught the words ‘ _worst, friends and nagging’_ but there was at least a whole other sentence or two of context he was missing.

“You gonna protect the kid then?” Len asked suddenly, fist clenching violently at the question. “Going to play hero, get out of here and keep Black from getting hurt? Keep White from getting himself into trouble because he has no chill?” 

“Of course.” The answer came automatically before Barry could do so much as bite his own tongue. “That’s what heroes do.”

The silence that followed that comment was almost thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Len kept looking at his fist, some sort of intense thought process being carried out behind those calculating eyes that Barry couldn’t even begin to guess as and then, just as suddenly as it’d done quiet, Len spoke up again. 

“Hey, Barry.” Len wasn’t looking directly at him but his words were so pointed that it felt like Len was staring directly into him. “I guess we only have eight or nine minutes left, so…you should use that gun.” 

“What…?”

Abruptly Len turned on Barry, the water that had now gathered up to his knees sloshing thickly at the violent motion. The anger on Len’s face looked more like the Captain Cold that Barry knew but its focus was not the usual ‘I’m going to kill this hero’ feeling.

“I _know_ you’re not that thick!” Len snapped viciously. “I wouldn’t have lost to such a stupid fucking kid, so don’t insult me by saying ‘ _what’_ like a brain dead high schooler! Obviously you have to use that gun.” Slowly the rage drained from Len’s voice but his fists remained tightly clenched, trembling with silent anger. “It’s simple math kid…you’re the _Flash_. You’re a hero, people are relying on you, and they need you. But me? Well I’m just Cold.”

“Life isn’t measured like that!” Barry argued vehemently, his heart beginning to hammer away frantically in his chest when he realized what Len was getting at. He hadn’t considered actually shooting Len, it wasn’t in his nature to do so – he was the Flash for pete’s sake! Murder…he couldn’t even begin to consider it. “I’m the Flash – I wouldn’t kill even you Cold!”

“Ha.” The dry, resentful bark caused Barry to flinch. “And what if I’m not even Cold?”

“What are you talking abo--” Barry began to angrily retort but when he saw Len’s stare his words were forgotten.

Captain Cold, the leader of the Rogues and one of Barry’s most formidable enemies, looked right at him with a broken smile and tears in his eyes. The expression was so disarming and unfamiliar that Barry was left with nothing to say, no witty remark or snide comment. He had Captain god damn Cold on the verge of honest to god tears, it should have been comedy gold. But instead Barry could only feel a dreadful tightening in his chest. 

“The Flash doesn't kill but right now you’re not him. No…you’re just _Barry_ right now aren’t you?” Cold’s tone was almost amused but there was nothing snide or cunning about it – he simply sounded despondent. “And right now I’m not Cold, I’m just Len…or maybe not even that.” He muttered under his breath a slight frown causing his eyebrows to knit together. 

“I overheard what you said about the ‘fake’ you met before, but even without that I know. I know things I shouldn’t – about you, about the Crooked Man. Things I couldn’t possibly know as Len or Cold. I might not be anyone, I’m probably another fake, right? I guess he built me with too much self awareness.”

Then it finally clicked in Barry’s mind – this person standing in front of him couldn’t be Cold. It was just another fake like the other Hal had been, like he first thought. But he seemed so real, so much more real than the fake Hal had been. Regardless of how convincing it was - this person was another replica. Barry was truly the only real person here, this was nothing more than a sickeningly real simulation. So why did it feel no less horrible to consider killing the fake Len? He’d return to the real Central City and Captain Cold would still be kicking up trouble, like nothing happened.

If he put a bullet between the fake’s eyes right now – it would change nothing in the outside world.

Len seemed to be thinking something similar as he smiled sadly at Barry through the glass. “Do you get it now…? Even if I get shot or drown in this water it won’t matter because I never really existed at all. Even if you were to find some way to save us both – I’d probably stop existing once the Crooked Man no longer needed me. Even if I didn’t I can’t imagine my real self being too thrilled to meet himself. I know I certainly wouldn’t like it.” 

“There’s no shame in killing me Barry. Even if I was real, even if I might be – I’d still only be a criminal and you’d be a hero. I told you – simple math. You’re life is worth far more.”

“You can't be the real Len.” Barry decided, surprised when his voice was thick with some unspoken emotion. “H-He’d never say that. He’d want the gun and would shoot me for sure!” 

“Because he wants you dead, because _I_ want you dead? Is that what you think Barry?” Len’s smile twisted into something a little more grim than sad. “I might not be real, but I am Len. I remember things he knows – things like Alois…” Momentarily Len paused, again looking at his fist. “I remember my sister, my rogues– our fights. Hah…I even remember the things that annoyed me about everyone I knew. Lisa’s recklessness, Mick’s unpredictable, uncontrollable temper – Alois’s incessant nagging.” 

Gradually the closed fist Len had was brought up to his chest, almost like he was holding onto a memory inside of that fist – the memory of what it was to be Leonard Snart.

“I thought at the end I’d say something like ‘I’m going to miss those things’.” Len laughed, the sound choking a bit at the end as he squeezed his fist closer to his chest. “But I’m relieved – no more Alois telling me I need to clean up, or Lisa fretting over me. Nah – I won’t miss that at all. Most of all I won’t miss you constantly ruining my heists.”

Barry was at a loss. This creature, this fake wasn’t Len but at the same time it was. This man in front of him had all the memories, all the feelings and because they weren’t really his to have – Len let himself show a side to Barry that shouldn’t have existed at all. Barry wondered if the real Len – his Captain Cold, was capable of feelings like this. 

He wanted to believe he wasn’t but Barry’s gut twisted painfully knowing that it was probably all true. Somewhere in the real Snart, there was something like this. Somewhere, smothered under every other bad thing he was – there was a good brother. A reliable partner and a friend. Somewhere there was a person not just the criminal. 

Why did a fake have to show Barry that?

“But…I will miss a few things.” Len’s eyes slipped open again but Barry couldn’t see him in them, Len was far away – remembering things that must have been precious to him. “Yeah, just a few.”

Then he was looking at Barry again, the man had not let a single tear fall but his eyes had not lost the potential shine. “Kid, you do me a favour? Even if I’m not real – I think I can ask for that much. That idiot kid – not your one, mine. Alois. You do me a favour Red, kill this bastard before Alois ever sees him. We’re not friends or anything – but we look out for our own and I think I owe the kid this much.” 

Barry couldn’t promise that, and he was surprised that Len cared enough to ask. He began to open his mouth to say as much when Len chuckled. “You don’t have to say anything kid – you look out for your own as well. I know that you’ll do whatever you got to in order to look after your own Monochrome brat. Now, get to it – we only have a few minutes left.”

Without a word Barry walked over to where the gun had been left at the beginning of their conversation. For a second he hesitated in picking it up, fingers lingering uncertainly over its smooth surface before finally Barry scooped it up in one sharp motion. With the familiar weight back in his hands, Barry approached the cage again.

Len was watching him quietly, no judgment in his eyes as he accepted what Barry had to do. Silently Len closed his eyes and turned away from Barry, muttering something about not needing Barry to remember his face when he pulled the trigger. 

As Barry raised the gun, he made his choice.  
And the slot in Len’s prison appeared. 

“I won’t kill you Len.”

“Kid.” His voice sounded so tired but Barry still refused to give into the old man. Len turned to look at the slot in alarm, his eyes widening as Barry moved to place the gun inside. “What are you doing? Barry…I don’t want to die – I seriously don’t. Technically I might not have been alive at all to begin with, but I still don’t want to die. Don’t give me the gun…don’t give me that choice.” 

“You think you can be the only selfish person here?” Barry demanded furiously. “You think you can be the only one that can play hero? I don't want to die either Len – but I don’t want to kill _you_ more.”

“The brats…you’re supposed to go and look out for them.” Len tried to argue even as the slot slid shut, thrusting the gun into Len’s prison and away from Barry’s reach – no turning back now.

“You think I’m going to just sit there and let one of us die? No way!” His energy was renewed; Barry felt rage coursing through his body –flushing out the fear that had been numbing him up until now. “I’m the god damn Flash! I won’t just give up and forfeit a life. I will fight – until the very end. Len you listen here – you can try to shoot me, but I won’t stay still and let it happen. You can try to get me to shoot you, but I won’t pull that trigger and until our time is up I am going to look for another way out.”

Barry stepped back from the glass wall, grinning in earnest. “Just you watch and see Cold – _this_ is what a true hero is!” 

Then just as suddenly as it had appeared the first time, the air was filled with the same electrical feel from fifteen minutes prior and the Crooked Man’s disjointed voice carried over to both of them. “Well done Mr. Allen. You pass the requirement for a hero on this floor as well.”

“What? Are you _shitting_ me?” Barry shouted into thin air, absolutely livid as the man’s meaning sank in. “This was all a ploy to see if I’d shoot him?” 

“Precisely. I must say you reacted…differently to what I expected. Regardless it is still a passing mark for you.”

Fake or not this man was playing with other’s lives without a single care in the world and Barry was starting to see red. The horrible thought that he might have really gone through with it and shot Len still a very real feeling in his chest.

“However…you have not attempted to solve my riddle.” CM continued sounding disappointed. “Do you not have an answer?”

The water was still running in Len’s prison and Barry figured it wouldn’t stop until the riddle was solved. Quickly Barry snatched the riddle from his back pocket, scanning over the words hastily to try and find an answer. He’d been so wrapped up in the whole ‘murder Len’ thing that he’d completely forgotten about the riddle aspect of the game.

“Barry, what does it say?” Len asked quietly. Barry was frustrated, clutching the paper too tightly as he scanned over the words – looking for an obvious answer. So often the answer to riddles was one he should have known. The type that had Barry kicking himself for not knowing once he heard it.

“It says; ‘ _What answer can you never honestly say ‘yes’ to_?’ It sounds so damn simple but I can’t think of it.” Barry replied angrily and for a few seconds Len was silent. When Barry turned to gauge his reaction he saw Len staring down at the gun with a curious expression, momentarily Barry was worried he intended to shoot him through the promised holes that CM had mentioned. But no such holes appeared. 

“Ha…hey Barry can I ask you something?” Len mused, a bitter smirk curling on his lips. “In your last challenge…did he give you the answer? Put it right under your nose like it was the most obvious thing in the world?”

Well…yes. CM had done that. He’d given Barry a yellow lantern to signify fear – the answer to his first riddle. Now he’d given him Len but Barry didn’t think ‘Cold’ or ‘Jackass’ were the answers to this one.

Len didn't wait for a response and instead he took hold of the gun properly, pointing it towards Barry. For a second the speedster’s heart stopped, terrified he really was going to be shot – but still no holes appeared.

“He gave you the answer again and I _know_ you aren’t that thick.” Then Len turned the gun inwards, placing it against his temple. Despite the horrible image in front of Barry – the older man only smiled that same mirthless smile.  “If one of us has to die…I suppose this will work just as well.”

“Len what are you doing? Put that down! I told you I was going to find us a way out!” Barry all but threw himself at the glass, looking for a weak point, for any way of getting into Len before he did something incredibly stupid. But as he pounded away at the glass with everything he had, Len kept his head steady and eased a finger onto the trigger. 

“What answer can you never honestly say _‘yes’_ to?” He mused coldly.

“Len! Stop this.” Barry’s voice broke into a plea when he meant to give an order, either way the older man paid him no mind. “Len I can save you! Just let me _try_.”

“Always such a goody two shoes.” Len scoffed, shoulder shaking with something other than laughter. “But hey…you keep that favour for me in mind and when you see the real me out there – because you _will_ get out Barry – you give him hell for me. It’s the least you can do to get back at me. Don’t forget to stay cool as well okay?” He hated him even more for trying to make a cold pun right then. 

“Please….Len. Don't.” Barry whispered, the banging on the wall stopping all together as he simply pressed his palms flat against the glass – knowing that it was hopeless.

Then much to Barry’s surprise, Len reached out and placed his hand against the glass over where Barry’s head rest and laughed. “I’d rip your hair out if I could just to get you to man up a bit. But…this is the best I got for now. Listen kid – I really hate you sometimes, like really violently hate your guts with all that hero nonsense – but you make it fun. I know you’ll look after Central City – keep my real self entertained out there with all your heroics.”

Slowly Len stepped away from the glass, repositioning the gun at his head and muttering something about it being harder than he thought. The water around his waist was still rising and with one more glance down at it and the fist he kept close to his chest, Len’s face softened into an accepting smile and his eyes fell on Barry just once more – the softest he’d ever seen them.

“I’ll see you out there Barry.” 

“Len, wai--!” Barry hit the glass just as the trigger was squeezed. The following bang cracked through the air, splitting it in two and raising all the hairs on Barry’s arms. The echo bounced off the walls horribly and after that one thunder crack and sickening splash as Len’s body fell into the waist high water – it was over.

Just like that, Barry was left alone in the dollhouse again.  
But Len had given Barry the answer to the riddle that he needed.

Quietly Barry sank down to his knees, hands still laid flat against the glass as the water inside began to turn a darker shade than it should have been. Swallowing hard, Barry opened his mouth and forced his voice out in a hoarse whisper.

“ _Are you dead…?”_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written without the mushy stuff but...hey I like me some mushy Captain Cold.  
> Originally Barry didn't even notice what Len was doing until after he figured out the riddle and then he turned to celebrate with Len - he pulled the trigger.  
> Like me some shock death, but sad death works just as nicely.


	6. Children's Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll have a Beta reader - one day.

His shoulder was aching.

A dull, lingering pain that remained long after the skin had cleansed itself of his brother’s mark. Staring down at his flawless, pale flesh – Alois once again wondered what it’d be like for his older brother.

The marks faded quickly into his flesh, all but dissolving and losing their strength in a matter of hours – but for Noire the marks would remain for many more hours, possibly stretching into days. His brother would be weak, sickly even, considering the extended time of the exposure to his opposite. Alois’s body was already shaking off the effects but Noire would not be in such chipper shape.

“Because he is weak.” Alois reminded himself, tearing eyes away from his unblemished palms to focus on the papers in front of him.

He’d been hunched over these files for longer than his back deemed appropriate but he was not willing to rip himself away form them just yet. He knew the words, poured over them and memorized ever minute detail he could but despite knowing them inside and out, Alois kept looking as if simply staring at the crumpled sheets under his hands would produce the obvious answer he was seeking.

Then again, he may be giving the documents a little too much credit.

It was too early to tell if the information was accurate, too soon in a working relationship to know if the Rogues were worth the money he paid them. Certainly too early to trust them – code or not criminals were not known to be honest. Although he was inclined to trust them - perhaps that was a mistake but Alois did trust their leader if only him.

With an amused huff Alois – or Monochrome White, as he now preferred – pulled free a sheet describing the latest victim in Central City that ended up being tied to his name. No doubt the police force would be looking at familiar sheets of information, much more detailed and pristine than his own, and it was likely the Flash had a thing or two on his mind about the whole ordeal. 

But the Rogues? It struck Alois as odd that his newly found ‘friends’ would be keeping track of such things. However, after some deliberation, Alois decided that this must have come solely from the merry little band of criminal’s leader. Len did have such an eye for valuable things – even trading in information. Alois had to admire that if nothing else.

“Now just how did you get your hands on this I wonder?” Crooning, Alois held the profile up in front of the light, his eyes trained on the face. This had slowly began to worm its way under his skin, these string of murders that became increasingly incriminating.

Alois rationalized that it didn’t actually matter whatever dirt got thrown on his name, it was all more fuel for his brother. But of all the things Alois Harlow had become over the past few months – senseless murder had yet to make the list. 

A frown creased Alois’s brow as he continued to look at the victim’s face. It was familiar to him, all the victims had been. The person behind these murders did end up having some method behind their madness, but Alois doubted the police would find that obscure link. Even now he was unsure if the link really could exist and indeed be him. But Alois so rarely interacted with anyone and each of these people had in some way or another been in touch with him recently. 

Not much above a casual conversation or serving him in their stores. Such trivial unimportant exchanges, but it was all they had in common asides from the way they’d died. Linked by meeting him at least a day before their grisly demise and having his trademark plastered all over them. 

“Someone is trying to get in touch with me.” The remark was bitingly sarcastic but Alois had to admit there was something amusing to be found in this morbid situation. Alois’s expression remained grim as he set down the latest profile he’d gotten from Cold. These people’s deaths, as inconsequential as they were, did not belong on his list of crimes.

Still who was he to ignore a perfectly good invitation?

Taking the sheet up to a familiar set up board, Alois pinned it to the wall with the others. Making a nasty picture of death to hang on his wall. In all honesty Alois would have liked something more scenic to put up on his wall, something familiar and homely but he could never be sure how long he’d stay in one place and getting settled would likely be a waste of his time. 

His humble little abode had taken some time to set up but it was far more uncomfortable than the underground chambers he’d lingered in during the early days. Say what you will about the Rogues, but they certain knew how to make a serviceable safe house.

It cost him almost all the earnings of a heist but above standard living conditions, Alois required very little to survive and the money was easy to part with. The little apartment was free of leaks and had a window to let in fresh air. But most importantly it was cheap and out of the way in a quiet little area – well away from a majority of the drama that went down in the city. Alois valued some peace and quiet more than some might think. 

The room had a sink and fridge that made up the kitchen area with a few other appliances – most of which went unused in favour of the fast food Alois was begrudgingly fond of. The bathroom was small but still more appealing than the communal ones Alois had found in a few other places and most of all, the bedroom was dark.

Sometimes, when Alois was not fully aware of it, he’d begin to shine. It was almost impossible to shut off the light shows once they began and so having the room completely closed off to the outside world helped to ease his racing nerves. Being discovered as a living human flash light would probably have his brother pounding down his door or warrant an undesired visit from the local speedster.

The fear that struck him whenever his body would begin to glow, as if his blood was shinning right through his flesh, was crippling and more often than not Alois would curl in on himself and cover his face with whatever he could. Alois did anything he could to block out the bright light that came out of his own form. Anything to fight back the regret and guilty memories. 

It was in those moments that Alois adored the darkness, wished he could vanish away into it and hide. But just as his brother recoiled from him when he reached out, the darkness shark back away from him. Retreating into corners and shrinking away from Alois’s natural light – as if he was toxic and being in his presence burned them.

Another plain reminder of his place in the world. 

Shaking off such dreary thoughts, Alois focused on the board in front of him. Pinned up on it were the other victim profiles Captain Cold had sold to him, along side the papers Alois had also kept a record of whatever information came from the news or his own knowledge. Once he added his own private knowledge of the events that took place a day before each murder, he’d noticed the pattern did seem to link directly to himself.

The people Alois interacted with had dwindled down to three since the third attack and one of those three had now joined the list of the dead. Alois was many horrible things, but civilians had never garnered his ire enough for him to bring death onto their door knowingly. As such the moment he noticed the pattern in these killings, he’d cut off ties with the outside world properly.

He hadn’t eaten in well over a month, hadn’t gone shopping for any goods. For all intents and purposes, Alois had been under house arrest. His efforts proved to be important when the final body showed up – providing enough proof in Alois’s mind that he’d done the correct thing in isolating himself. Without contact with the outside world, perhaps the murder would have a harder time picking a new target. 

Of course…Alois still had to go out and meet his brother.

This did not concern Alois however, he had no doubt in his mind this mystery killer would leave Noire well enough alone. Despite all these deaths having occurred directly after Alois interacted with the victims – Noire had yet to be targeted. Alois had met with him more frequently than any other victim and so while he was on the list of people he interacted with – Alois didn’t place Noire as a potential victim. That same luxury could not be extended to some others.

Noire would no doubt have heard of the most recent killing and he had his heart set on blaming Alois – so White had to break his house arrest to go and teach his brother another bruising lesson in the street.

Unfortunately that forced an interaction with another individual besides Noire – that put another target on the killer’s hit list. 

Just as Alois was planning to take down his little mind map, the room seemed to grow noticeably colder and Alois swore he felt a sudden gust of wind – like his window had been opened without his notice.

Abruptly Alois became aware of the fact that he was no alone in the little room.

Alois liked to think of himself as incredibly observant but there were those left in the world that could take him by surprise – and the Monochrome brother tried not to be insulted by the ease of which one so frequently did. Regardless of this information, White did not immediately respond and instead reached out to tap the middle of his information board.

“Next is…” Turning to face the familiar figure crouched in his open window, Alois’s face twisted up into a mirthless sneer. He didn’t welcome Batman nor ask how he found this little apartment – because really there was never any point in asking. The Bat would find him whenever it suited him. “The Flash, correct?” 

And while Alois grinned, the final piece dropped into place.

 

 

…

…

 

 

It felt like CM had given up trying to get Barry to move. The initial congratulations he gave and directions to exit the stage went by ignored as Barry continued to sit, back up against the glass wall, with his head angled towards the ground. 

Barry couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. Couldn’t have turned around to glance at the body that was left on the bottom of the glass prison floor. Some part of him was waiting, waiting for CM to recall the fake. To make the body vanish or melt, or whatever else the bastard did once he no longer needed fakes. Something to show Barry that it wasn’t real at all. 

Instead if Barry so much as peeked out of the corner of his eye, it’d still be there. Motionless on the floor that was no drained of water with only a few patches of diluted pink water left. Anything that wasn’t water was red, Barry didn’t want to look any closer than that. 

“You have other trials.” CM insisted every now and then. He wanted Barry to move into the next room – he’d unlocked the third door that had remained when the other two were torn out. It was left hanging open like an unwanted invitation. Barry retorted in his own mind that CM could just drop him through the floor like always but the words never left his mouth. 

Speaking felt difficult. Thinking wasn’t much better. Barry just wanted a moment where there was nothing cluttering up his head. 

He knew, one hundred percent knew, that outside this little hell CM had whipped up – Snart was okay. He’d be off robbing a bank or planning a heist without a single concern outside of the Flash ruining his fun. Snart would be fine, but right now for just this moment Len wasn’t. Barry knew better than to feel attachment to a fake but they’d spoken. 

All his mind could dwell on was little comments. The people that the fake knew with fondness despite having never met them, the loyalty he’d felt towards his rogues and sister – even his frustration with their annoying traits. This fake was too real, CM had made him almost identical to Leonard Snart and while that alone wasn’t too horrible – he’d made the fake think for just a moment he was real.

The blinding rage that consumed every inch of Barry’s mind when he thought of that was enough to set his teeth on edge. His skin crawled with the white hot sensation that crawled its way through his blood – demanding that Barry do something – anything. CM was right, he still had more trials to complete, more rooms that to the man somehow proved Barry could be a hero, when in reality it seemed like nothing short of some sick torture.

“Tell me one thing.” Barry muttered under his breath. “If you’re really that guy, the one Noire wakes up screaming about in the middle of the night, you’ll know. Why did you do it?”

“If I give you an answer, will you proceed?” CM’s voice crackled to life, filling the air with that uncomfortable electricity that lapped at Barry’s sides.

Momentarily Barry’s hand pressed flat against the glass wall behind him. The cold, smooth sensation left a horrible chill in his bones but Barry knew he couldn’t stay here. Even if the guilt and regret tore at his insides like a poisonous knife, he had to keep on going – because that was what he’d promised Len. 

It was entirely possible that the fake had been hardwired by CM from the start, he’d definitely known his role was to give Barry the answer the riddle. But what CM hadn’t given him was what he’d done after being created, he couldn’t control that and Len had used what little time he’d had as his own creature to make a simple demand of Barry.

Never let CM’s existence reach those idiot brothers. 

Funny, they were both having similar thoughts on the matter. So even if it hurt, even if Barry had to slug through another death – it did tend to happen in this line of work – he’d keep moving forward and keep true to being a hero. Even if Len hadn’t asked for that favour he would have kept going – this just added another hand in the back of his mind to give him the little push he needed.

A hero couldn’t hesitate when other’s lives were on the line.

“Answer me honestly and I will go through every damn room you want until I reach you.” Barry wouldn’t kill him, it wasn’t how the League handled things but Barry knew he could make the man vanish. Batman was good at that sort of thing and Barry wouldn’t mind calling in a favour for this one. Anything to make this man stop existing, to keep his name on the list of people that were gone and buried. 

As Barry stood, hands clenched tightly with every intention of facing the next room CM had planned head on – there was silence. CM was still there, the spark of his presence lingered in the air like and unpleasant blanket over Barry’s flesh. But he had not yet answered. Barry knew this silence, he was thinking about his answer.

“Come on CM.” Barry snarled as he neared the door that would take him to the next room with whatever the man decided he needed to do. “It’s not that hard to remember is it? Bunch of children taken hostage in a run down warehouse – you killed one of them. Why? What causes a perfectly normal person to wake up one morning and decide he needs to murder a handful of orphans?”

“Because the world needs heroes.”

Barry’s hand was already on the doorknob when the quiet answer reached him. For a moment he genuinely had no idea what that meant, he’d expected something more familiar. Most villains he met had some sort of reasoning, greed, insanity, some warped sense of being wronged or a sob story prepared. This wasn’t one he’d heard before.

“Because I needed them.”

The comment was so quiet that Barry was positive the man hadn’t meant to say it at all. Maybe that was why it sent such a sharp chill down Barry’s spine. Because when CM said ‘them’ Barry got the feeling that he wasn’t referring to only heroes. 

Slowly Barry’s mind began to slot pieces together, coincidences that he’d pushed aside as just that were beginning to look more related than he’d been willing to consider. Even as his hand began to push open the door into the next area, Barry felt concern welling up in his chest. Not for himself – though there was certainly no lacking of that – but for those outside of the Crooked Man’s dollhouse.

Was the Flash really CM’s target? Barry had never had a single interaction with the villain in his life, CM had died before Barry even knew his name. There was no connection between them, not even in city – the Crooked Man had been based closer to Gotham after all.

In all honesty the only connection between himself and CM was--

“Noire?” Barry felt the name slip off his tongue without his consent. For a moment the air around him began to vibrate with the familiar cackle of electricity – if Barry was to describe the reaction he would have used the word ‘purred’. This rubbed Barry in all the wrong ways and even with his hand firmly clutching the pathway to the next room, he snarled at CM in retaliation.

“Those boys have nothing to do with you!” Alois and Noire were a tight pair at the time CM supposedly kicked the bucket – if he had some sort of sick attachment to one it was likely he had the same with the other. Even if Alois had decided to try his hand at the villain game – much to his older brother’s dismay – that did not give CM anymore of a right to mess with the kid.

Perhaps it was just Barry’s natural naïve optimism, but he still held out hope that Alois would abandon his title as the ‘evil’ brother and come back home to Noire one day. It seemed like Noire had believed his brother might just have a change of heart at first, and it troubled Barry to watch that belief dwindle with every passing day.

“I need them.” That was all Barry got out of the Crooked Man before the air abruptly fell still, the electricity that came with the man’s presence vanishing as if he had never been there to begin with.

Frustrated but not willing to stand there screaming after empty space on the off chance that CM would become chatty again, Barry pushed on forward. It was only when he opened the door into a familiar grimy looking city that Barry really registered his captor’s tone.

CM sounded a bit lost. Like saying that he ‘needed’ the two kids was all he knew to say – Barry hardly felt like CM was talking to him so much as he was trying to convince himself. Deciding to file that thought away for a later date, Barry found himself instead focusing on a horrible churning feeling in his gut.

He’d never much liked Gotham and this version of it wasn’t doing the grimy city any favours.

“Just a fake city, not real.” Barry reminded himself under his breath, forcing himself to move out of the doorway, which immediately vanished once he’d stepped out in the usual display of decaying wood that CM enjoyed so damn much, and into the equally as unappealing city streets.

Now to Barry’s credit, Gotham had never been the safest place on Earth – even when it wasn’t designed by some lunatic covered from head to toe in bandages. There was a reason that Gotham laid host to one of the most feared heroes of all time, funny really – most heroes were not renowned for their fear factor. But more heroes were not Batman.

The streets were exactly as Barry remembered them from his few visits. The brick path under his feet still hosting small puddles from the recent rainfall, reflecting the looming stone structures that had been situated in the city long before Barry was taking his first steps. Barry kept his eyes firmly on the main road he’d been deposited on, using all his self restraint not to accidentally glance down one of the many winding corridors the city labeled as backstreets. The city was a labyrinth within itself and Barry didn’t want to take a wrong step – he wouldn’t put it past CM to create a maze out of a city, twisting familiar features to match his desires.

This had once been CM’s home after all; once upon a time he’d been a child growing up in Gotham. The city’s track record did not favour it when it came to producing mentally sound children.

“What makes one kid Batman and another the Joker?” Barry mumbled under his breath. Some part of him wanted to believe that it was some core goodness that kept Batman to the path of righteousness but he could never be sure. Bruce never trusted anyone much, to ask him what drove him in such a way would probably get Barry nowhere. He only knew Bruce’s identity because they’d all been forced to unmask – it hadn’t helped that Batman already knew who they all were, the only person that wasn’t surprised by Batman’s reveal was Superman. Barry had made comment about them being ‘super friends’ the treatment he’d gotten from Batman after that comment was enough to leave him with chills for weeks. Not crossing that line again.

After hearing his own words echo back at him from the empty city streets, Barry felt an entirely different chill shoot down his spine. He was the one that said ‘Joker’ but hearing it out loud reminded Barry of just how horrible this city was. Barry thought that he was lucky to have a group like the rogues inhabiting his city as opposed to people like the Joker or Penguin. At least Len’s merry little band of rogues didn’t kill for jollies. However Barry quickly decided not to think about the rogues at all. Thinking about Captain Cold at all at this exact time left a sharp pain lingering in Barry’s chest.

Batman made it inescapably clear that no one was permitted to cross into his boarders, as a hero without an invitation – at first Barry had felt concerned. Worried Batman was trying to fight all alone again. He’d tried reasoning with the dark knight to no avail, but while he had been worried – Hal had leant more towards insulted. Accusing Batman of being unfair and condescending. No amount of soothing from Barry’s part had managed to placate his angry friend and despite his best efforts to defuse the situation, the two had gotten into a proper fight. 

Now the thing that was important to remember when engaging in any form of conflict with Batman was that you’re probably going to lose. About eighty percent of all conflicts between Batman and other league members fell in the Bat’s favour. Verbal, physical, mental – no one could quite match up. 

But there were rare occasions; very few in nature, where Batman for one reason or another would withdraw or even – god forbid – lose.  
Barry didn’t remember many of those.

However, as far as Barry was aware – Hal had never been one of those lucky few. The fight – while mostly verbal – had eventually translated into training. Everybody could see it, Batman had demanded that Hal remove his ring for their training session. That in itself was not too unusual, he’d always pushed the need for non-powered training. That lead to the installation of a red light room that Batman explained was just for Superman – Barry didn’t totally understand but Batman had assured him it was better he didn’t for the time being.

On this occasion Hal had not taken kindly to the order and spat out accusations that Batman was trying to hide. This was some sort of old argument between the two, one Barry tried his best to stay out of, but it had set Batman’s jaw at that familiar edge and everybody took a step back. Some literally and others figuratively – no one wanted to get in-between the two. 

Barry still remembered how Hal’s body had hit the mat – the horrible heavy thud it had made when he didn’t have the strength to so much as roll with the impact. It was such a final sound and no one was surprised when the lantern did not get back up.

“Forget Joker…” Barry muttered under his breath, hands rubbing over his arms to fight off another shiver. “Batman’s the real scary one.”

Just as Barry thought he’d be left to play another searching game for CM’s riddles the sound of hurried footsteps rushing through the scattered murky puddles left on the streets caused Barry to whip around in alarm. Half expecting to see a mugger or something more insidious running in his direction, Barry was thrown off guard as a child brushed past him.

For a beat Barry’s mind shut down, his body falling back along with the forward motion of the child’s run. He felt the fabric of the young boy’s dress shirt run along his shoulder as the child slid straight on past him – barely grazing his shoulder before he ran on past Barry. It was such a simple, innocent motion that Barry shouldn’t have paid any mind to it besides maybe telling the child not to run when the ground was slippery from the rain. But in that fleeting touch, a familiar shock latched itself onto Barry’s flesh, sinking deep through his skin and onto the bone beneath his muscles. The spark spread up his arm, latching and crawling its way through his body until the unsettling feel settled at the base of his neck, barely creeping out across his neck and shoulders.

The electrical feeling was not only familiar to Barry as the static in the air whenever CM spoke to him – but it reminded him of something wholly different and far more comforting. That spark up his bone was not the simple waves of static caused by CM, it was that well-known lightening flying through Barry’s blood. That feeling was what he’d been missing – the speed force pushing its way through his body. Powering every inch of him with the familiar flow of energy – that feeling was his lost speed. 

It only took a second for it all to transpire and in the next moment the child had rushed on past Barry, a string of delighted giggles being left behind in the child’s wake. Without thinking Barry turned to chase after the child, his body instinctively following after the sensation of lightening under his skin.

“Hey wait up!” Barry called after the happy kid, but he didn’t so much as glance back at Barry, continuing down the road at a speed Barry didn’t think such small legs could move at. 

Even as he ran after the giggling youth, Barry’s mind registered the pointlessness of it. The child would be no more real than anything else CM made in his little stages. Even if this had not been some warped reality created by the madman, following after a child laughing happily as they ran down the streets of Gotham was a set up for a horror movie if ever Barry had heard one.

But that small spark, the knowledge that he could feel the speed force even for a moment – it was enough to push Barry to try. His body screamed for it, needed to return to the speed force that was more alive than anyone gave it credit for. It wanted to be back in reach for Barry as much as he wanted to be able to harness it again. 

The child rounded a corner, into one of those backstreets that Barry had tried so hard to avoid and now threw himself into without a second thought. Barry cursed the child’s quick legs as he threw himself around yet another corner – the boy never stopped laughing, seeming to be having the time of his life as he ran through the maze like streets. Barry wasn’t sure if the child had a destination, didn’t know if it was self aware like Len had been or a puppet like not-Hal had been. It didn’t matter, Barry just had to reach the child and see if he could find the source of his powers – find out where CM had hidden them. It was entirely possible he’d put them into some sort of locked off section of his dollhouse – the kid might just be a way to find it.

Holding onto that hope, Barry tried to keep track of the child that obviously knew these streets far better than Barry did. Suddenly the child took one last turn that lead him out into a larger road, not quite a main road but big enough to not be a tight squeeze of a backstreet. For a moment Barry felt relief, thinking it would be easier to catch the child in a larger area, except when he came flying out of the backstreet Barry didn’t see the child at all.

Instead he found himself standing in front of a familiar, looming structure. The colourless building standing before him, halfway towards ruin set the hairs on the back of his neck upright. It looked like something you would see in Gotham, humorless, loveless and decaying. Barry would never apply those words to Batman, at least not on purpose. The windows were boarded up but Barry could still see the broken glass under the haphazardly placed planks of wood, there was moss on the outside of the building but even that wasn’t green, the moss had turned a sickly black colour and looked like it was dying just as quickly as the house it was attached to.

This was the children’s home.

It didn’t look quite like it had in the photograph Len and he had seen. In that picture it at least looked functional – no less joyless and devoid of life but at least it would be a roof over some poor kids head. This version of the house had too many patches of roof missing to even be that.

Despite himself Barry was staring. This was the place he and Len had decided was CM’s home as a child and Barry’s reasonable mind deduced the child he’d followed he might just be a recreation of CM as a child – leading Barry to his own home. For a moment the thought of CM making a child version of himself only to kill flashed in Barry’s mind, making his stomach drop sickeningly and pushing that thought down proved harder than Barry would ever admit.

“Big scary house with a laughing child leading the way?” Barry swallowed dryly even as he attempted to keep his voice even. “Sounds like a perfect horror movie cliché…I wish I had a crew to split up with then the movie trope would be complete. Guess I’ll settle for going inside the obviously haunted house for my stupid decision.” Now he knew that sometimes when met with a particularly troubling situation he tended to ramble – but hey if it worked, it worked. 

Barry was almost wishing that this door wouldn’t open when he tried it, like many of the others that CM had placed before him. But much to Barry’s genuine dismay the door not only opened, it _broke_. The small pressure he placed around the untrustworthy looking door caused it to finally buckle, the rusted bolts giving away as the door groaned as it gave away at the hinges and fell inwards with a deafening bang as it hit the floor. The violent sound caused Barry to jump and give the now gaping entry way a perturbed one over. No one would have faulted him from walking away right then and there but Barry still had a game to win – so he had no choice but to power on forward.

The inside of the children’s home was not much of an improvement to the exterior. It had less loose nails and maybe not as much mold and moss lingering around but that wasn’t saying much considering the poor condition of everything else. The floor creaked and squealed in protest as Barry took his first tentative steps inside. But as Barry began to move deeper into what was definitely a bad decision in the making, he noticed something he’d not expected from the haunted house. 

While the place was still wrought with decay and impending hazards, deeper inside the feeling shifted a little bit. Barry had thought the place as something that was void of life, but there were signs of living inside. Or at least signs of a place that was once lived in by many – perhaps even lovingly so.

The entryway lead Barry past a living room and further down the hallway there were signs of a kitchen set up as well as a dinning room. A quick glance in and Barry found himself looking at something out of a poor version of Harry Potter. A long table with too many chairs of different size and design to counter stood alone in the room attached to the kitchen. The chairs were left wherever they’d been dropped after its last use, the carelessly toppled chairs reminded Barry of a child’s haste to get away from the family dinner and return to play. As Barry looked in on the frozen scene, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would have been like when it was alive with the sounds of children fighting and laughing. He could practically still smell the cheap but warm meals that they would have eaten, heard the arguments over a single potato or the best seat at the table.

The room, like the rest of the building, was in a state of disrepair and abandonment but Barry couldn’t stop imagining a time when it was still in use, bustling with many mouths to feed. As he traveled deeper into the house this trend continued. Peeking into the kitchen which turned out to be a bad decision as there was still something rotting in there – some sort of unfinished meal left to fester, Barry noticed a few coloured plates before he escaped from the smell. In the brief glance he’d gotten, Barry saw names scrawled over the plates – the names of children that wanted to claim something of their own from the others.

The upper floor of the establishment hit Barry a little harder than he’d expected. There were many rooms, all filled with beds. Bunk beds crammed up tight against one another so that more children could fit in one room. Most of the beds were unmade, some with the sheets resting on top of the musty spring mattresses waiting to be made. Among the uncomfortable, lumpy beds, there were items of childhood. Stuffed toys, old action figures that Barry thought he might have seen when he was a child – comics and dolls scattered around unceremoniously on the floor. Barry was glad he didn’t even up stepping on any lego as he ventured inside.

Most of the rooms were connected, a sort of community of children that had no where else to go. Abandoned, lost or orphaned – there would have been a lot of different stories clinging to these rooms and Barry knew that there was every chance he might have been one of them had he not been able to rely on friends and family after his mother’s death and father’s incarceration. Even if he tried not to, Barry couldn’t stop himself from empathizing with the children that would have lived here.

When he remembered what Len had said about this place, about the poor treatment and care of the children under the owners, he felt a spike of rage. He dealt with criminals all the time, but this sort of mistreatment of children and the ability to do so without persecution set Barry’s mind into a dangerous place. The sort of place that he’d sometimes see Batman go, but everyone knew they’d never go further than that. Killing, taking law and judgment into their own hands – that was no the Justice Leagues way.

They would not become dictators, regardless of how much good they could do. They were not lords among men.

Barry thought he’d seen all that there was, searched through the rooms as best he could while avoiding the flimsier looking sections of flooring and had not yet found CM’s riddle. Frustrated by not yet ready to give up, Barry decided he would search through a second time, looking for something he’d missed. It was only by chance he happened to glance up and see it. 

At the very back of the smallest children’s room, a room that had only three beds crammed inside and a blocked off window – there was a nest. Not the sort of a nest a bird might make or even a spider’s web made for her children to eventually come spilling out of like some monstrous nightmare consisting almost exclusively of little black spots – no this was a nest that was more familiar to Barry.

It was Noire’s nest.

Stunned by the simple familiarity of the structure made out of bunched up blankets and pillows that had been crammed inside of a small space on the wall. It was directly above the window where the ceiling continued at the same height despite leaving a gap between it and the window, creating a space most might use for storage but Noire would always target as a potential nest.

Barry vividly remembered Noire making various nests in the house, above the fridge when he was small enough, the roof before Barry had almost suffered a heart attack from the fright alone – anywhere he could be up high and observe what went on under his nest from a safe distance. This was undeniably Noire’s nest…so what was it doing here? Why was Noire’s favourite little nest in a place like this?

Noire had come to live with him after his mother died – he was never an orphan so why was it here?

He’d taken on step towards the bundle of bunched up blankets when the space around Barry was suddenly filled up a looming shadow. The dark silhouette fell over Barry giving him only a seconds warning before a piece of metal went flying past his head, imbedding itself in the window frame by the side of his face. Barry could already fell a thin trail of blood beginning to gradually drip from his cheek where the razor sharp edges of the weapon had nicked him. Had Barry not moved that small inch he had it might have left a more sizable wound on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Barry’s chest seized up for two reasons when he heard the low growl directed at him. First and most violently was the realization that he now knew exactly what had been thrown at him and who had thrown it. Secondly, and perhaps worse than his initial realization was the knowledge that this was probably going to hurt him more than Len had – both physically and emotionally. Because who else in the world had a voice quite so unfriendly and rough as that?

He slowly – _very_ slowly – turned to face the man, arms kept up in the surrender position to avoid being lashed out again. When he was finally able to look at the looming figure of another friend – Barry tried to smile even though he knew it must have looked uneasy.

“Heya Bats…”


	7. Fakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this.  
> Have some Batman.

In all honesty Alois found this all rather underwhelming.

When the Bat decided to come crashing into your room in the middle of the night, one would expect some dramatic exchanging of blows or at the very least some threatening growls to come out of the man. So why was it Alois had spent the better half of this visit sitting up on the window ledge that Batman had originally made his entrance through, simply watching the Bat skulk around his humble abode? 

To be fair Alois knew that the Bat was searching him, looking for anything that might give him any indication that Alois hands were not clean of murder. Alois figured that he’d try to stop the man if it was anyone else but despite his distaste for the black clad superhero – Alois knew it was far less troublesome to simply stay put and wait for him to be done. 

If he was guilty the Bat would find out – a simple fact of life.

As to why the Batman was bothering to check his innocence as all, Alois couldn’t quite say. His own brother was dead set on the idea that Alois had killed a bunch of civilians, turned their innards into chalk for no other reason than being evil. However the Batman was calculating, clear headed and not burdened by the same emotional attachment Noire was – he was looking at Alois without Noire’s heart broken vision. Frankly Alois did not like how sharp that gaze really was, it felt like every time those white slits turned on him – Batman had bore yet another hole through his façade.

This man, the same man that had dragged Alois from the wreckage as a child, wearing that same calculated scowl even as he found Alois huddled around the other children – keeping the rubble and debris off their fragile bodies as best he could – was still able to see right into his core with a simple glance. Alois hated him for that. Perhaps it was natural to hate someone that so effortlessly tore through every wall you’d made – some claimed it was easy to love a person like that but Alois had yet to feel even the slightest inkling of affection towards the Dark Knight.

Another book went tumbling to the floor with a faint thud as the Bat tore through his belongings. Alois didn’t like to think he was territorial but letting Batman riffle through all his things was beginning to make an ugly feeling crawl through his veins. It would not have killed the man to be a little more delicate with his searching – maybe part of his image was being a rude house guest.

Alois felt he deserved some sort of recognition for the fact he had not immediately tried to fry Batman upon his arrival and instead invited him inside as courteously as he could. Some villains might have scorned him but Batman was not his hero to fight, this wasn’t even Gotham and Alois had no reason to fight a battle he could very well lose. He knew without asking that Batman wouldn’t have come without a plan – if Alois attacked him it was likely that Batman would produce something designed to combat him specifically – something made from his brother’s blood perhaps? Naturally the thought unnerved Alois, and it made him wonder if Noire had been asked if his body could be used to make an anti-Alois weapon.

Noire would never agree to it, but perhaps the Batman didn’t ask permission. It wouldn’t be hard, Noire was such a clueless child and all it would take is one fight gone wrong and Batman could collect samples while Noire was out cold. Alois quietly cursed his brother for being so pathetically careless but then a chilling thought occurred to him. Did Batman have a contingency plan for his big brother? Had he, somehow when Alois thought he was safe, been able to take a sample from him? 

Glancing silently towards the faint outline of his unfriendly houseguest, Alois decided that he definitely had contingency plans for Noire. It seemed the Batman had a plan for everyone, but that did not mean it would be one made from Alois. Still, the unsettling ideal lingered in the back of Alois’s mind – making him try to locate a time where he might have been vulnerable to the man. He could think of none, but really wasn’t that what the Bat would want him to think? 

Just when Alois thought his nerves could not be getting trampled on anymore by the man in his home, he caught sight of Batman laying hands on something that was certainly off limits and Alois’s patience abruptly wore too thin. 

“Put that down.” Alois instructed Batman coldly. The man only turned slightly towards him in acknowledgement, gloved fingers still holding the book that had gotten Alois’s attention. It was considerably smaller than the others in his possession; most of his books were stories – the sort that he’d grown to like as a child when their mother would tell them tales of space and adventures. Now that he was older Alois saw some truth in her tales, the details changed but the heroes were the same – only Alois knew them now as Lanterns and he always wondered what his mother would have thought of them if she’d had the chance to meet them. 

She loved colours of every shade and had once told him that his light was one of the single most beautiful gifts she’d ever seen on this planet. Lanterns took both those things and made them better – Alois wasn’t jealous by any means but the thought of adding some colour, any colour, to his own light was an ever present desire. One he couldn't have. But he still stood by the fact he wasn’t jealous, maybe a tad bitter but certainly not _jealous_.

However the book in Batman’s hands was no storybook, at least not one Alois wanted to share. It was a small, oddly shaped book that was just a bit too short and a tad too wide to properly fit into his shelf with the others. At first it had driven Alois half mad seeing the odd book ruining the clean and organized look of his book collection and he’d almost discarded it. He swore he would but no matter how many times he tried to remove it – Alois could never properly throw it out and so the book had taken up a new home where it didn’t look so out of place. It now lived on the small table by his bed where he never touched it. This was the first time it had been moved in weeks and Alois could see patches of clean areas made where Batman’s fingers had disturbed the dust.

Batman didn’t utter a single word but he had not put the book down either, his silent gaze was an unasked question or maybe even a challenge. Alois knew rising to any challenge that batman presented was a bad idea but a man had to draw a line somewhere and considering all the other discourtesies he’d endured since the Bat arrived – this was a perfectly reasonable place to draw said line.

“That’s none of your business.” Alois told him bluntly, tone dropping into a cold warning. He’d been pleasant enough until now, all things considered. “If you’re looking for a hit list or some sort of killing trophies – you already know they’re not in there. Don’t pry.”

Alois wasn’t sure if he was surprised when Batman put the book back. Part of him had expected the man to flat out ignore his demands or at least argue the point, but Batman moved on like nothing had been said at all. It was only then that it really hit Alois just how right he was – Batman knew he’d find nothing in there, at least nothing incriminating in the sense that Alois was guilty of murder. Actually, it seemed like Batman didn’t think he was guilty at all – so why was his poking around at all? 

“What do you want Batman?” Alois asked, not bothering to disguise the irritation in his voice. “I know it might be hard for you to believe, but some of us do actually sleep at night.” 

No response – typical.

Alois bristled where he sat, fingers beginning to drum against his arm at a rapid pace. Part of Alois was wondering what he was going to tell Cold later, the man was reliable when it came to trading most things but having Batman in the safe house he’d supplied for White was probably going to put a damper on things if he knew – and he _would_ know. Alois was partially convinced that this apartment had cameras somewhere, Cold didn’t strike him as the sort of just hand out safe houses – paid or not – without some sort of insurance.

He had nothing to hide, at least nothing to hide from Captain Cold. He wasn’t going to double cross them and he wasn’t holding out on them, so Cold could watch all he liked and see nothing of importance. Although Alois didn’t like the idea of Cold knowing how much fast food he ate or that he had a habit of waking up from night terrors while lighting up like a Christmas tree. Still – they were petty concerns, nothing worth throwing a fit over. Snart on the other hand might just get a bit huffy with Alois, it was pretty obvious he’d been avoiding the man. 

A glance towards Alois’s pin up board of victims tied to simple interactions with him, reminded Alois exactly why he’d been avoiding Leonard Snart. It was for the man and his rogue’s own good – Alois might not be particularly compassionate or dedicated to his newly found partners in crime, but he’d be damned if he brought trouble to their doorstep. Alois owed Len that much. 

Didn’t mean he would apologize for blowing the man off when this was all over – not a chance in hell.

But seeing Batman on his cameras might just worry Cold. His safe houses were meant to be the best-kept secrets in Central City and here was the Bat just walking in like he owned the place. Alois wasn’t sure who should be more angry, Cold because Alois let the Bat do what he wanted or Alois because Len’s safe house wasn’t as safe as he’d been promised. He couldn’t really blame Len though – no one could hide from the Batman for long once he decided they needed to be found. Alois was no exception and neither was Captain Cold.

“You’ve been following the murders.” The Bat finally spoke. His voice was flat but even with so little emotion put behind his statement Alois still tensed a bit when he heard the low rumble. The man’s every action screamed intimidation – it was hardly Alois’s fault that his natural instincts reacted with the need to flee. It annoyed Alois that the man didn’t even phrase it as a question but expected an answer all the same.

“Wouldn’t you?” Alois replied a little too shortly. “If someone plastered the bat symbol over a bunch of crimes you didn’t commit?”

While Alois had left the Flash guessing about his innocence, he didn’t bother here. Batman already knew and no amount of acting was going to change the man’s mind without some sort of evidence to accompany a confession that Alois didn’t have. No point pretending right now. 

“So it’s pride then, or maybe rage?” Again Alois bristled angrily, his every nerve being easily found and plucked. Batman made every word sound like an accusation, and Alois was once again hit with the sensation of being transparent in front of this man. He asked but he already knew the answers to each question. 

“What are you doing here, Batman?” Alois asked a second time, not rising to the bait that was laid out before him. They both knew that pride had very little to do with this, but Alois would rather pretend this was nothing more than a villain’s insult driving his actions. As opposed to compassion – he could not afford to look like the deaths of a few civilians had bothered him. Alois had a image to keep and even if Batman didn’t buy it – he would attempt to maintain it in front of everyone else.

“The Flash has gone offline.” Batman’s tone shifted, he was now giving out simple information like a machine. It was unsettling but an improvement on what he’d been doing before. “According to your…” He paused, finger flicking over the little information board Alois had pinned up. “-notes, the Flash was meant to be the next target.”

“Offline?” Alois repeated dryly. “For how long?”

“Officially? One day. He was not present for the League meeting this morning. However it seems he vanished not long after the scuffle between you and your brother.” Alois grit his teeth, trying not to snarl at the childish tone the word ‘scuffle’ gave their fight. “Meaning he’s been gone for almost two days.”

“That doesn’t fit the killers description.” Alois cut in sharply. “His victims die suddenly and immediately, their bodies always found within twenty-four hours. They’ve never _kidnapped_ anyone.”

“Not everyone is the Flash.”

After that comment was placed, an unsettling silence fell between them. More accurately and uncomfortable silence for _Alois_ – Batman seemed completely at ease. Finally, after a terribly long time of no one speaking, Alois swallowed his pride and asked what he needed to know.

“My brother…?”

“Lantern is out looking for him now.” Alois resisted the urge to groan or laugh. Noire was probably the person least fond of the Green Lantern on this side of the planet – why they thought it was a good idea to send the lantern to find his angry big brother was beyond Alois. Then again, even if Noire was more malleable under Batman’s instructions – Alois was only accessible for the Bat. Alois had never been revealed by the man, why the Batman never told the rest of the League about Alois’s whereabouts – especially to the Flash and Noire – was another mystery to Alois. One he didn’t think the Bat would solve for him even if he asked.

“That’s a terrible choice.” Alois noted dryly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Why would you send the lantern of all people? You know my brother cannot stand him.”

“Lantern is the best choice.” Batman replied flatly, no room for argument in that tone – _oh,_ but Alois wanted to argue so badly. 

“What makes you so sure?” Perhaps the challenge in his tone was a bad idea when directed at Batman, but the man hardly even glanced at Alois. 

“Because Lantern would never let your brother get hurt.” And damn him, because Alois believed it.

Sighing heavily Alois ran his hand over his face, feeling a swell of exhaustion take over him. There was nothing left to do now but comply with the Bat, he had wanted to take care of this whole thing alone but there was no sending the man away now that he was here.

“You know I’m not terribly fond of the Flash.” Alois muttered wryly. “What makes you think this isn’t exactly what I want? To see him get killed by someone else and keep my hands clean for another day?” 

Then for what felt like the first time since his initial arrival, the Bat turned towards Alois and truly looked at him. Those piercing eyes cutting right through every defense Alois had raised up over the years with a single stare. However the words that followed punched a much deeper hole than his eyes ever had. 

“Because you would never let your brother get hurt either.”

For a few seconds Alois thought he’d gone mad, that he had imagined the statement that came so easily from the hero’s mouth. It was ludicrous; he’d spent every waking moment since his return hurting his brother. Physically, emotionally – in whatever way he could. To say what the Bat just had was a direct contradiction to these actions, and yet Alois understood what he was really saying. 

Slowly a smile curled on Alois’s lips, a mirthless, malicious sneer that grew with every passing second as it really sunk in just how easily the Bat saw through him. Alois hurt his brother at every turn, but that was his right as Noire’s brother. They were family, regardless of fights and differences; they were still connected by blood – by her. The right to hurt his brother belonged solely to Alois – an outsider had no right.

It was true, Alois would never let anyone else hurt his brother. So of course this mystery killer had to go and they had to go before the Flash did. Noire was a stubborn little prick but that stupid speedster meant the world to his big brother. If he got turned to chalk by some stranger, then Alois had failed as a little brother. 

“So then.” Alois breathed out, barely able to suppress the chuckle forming in his throat. He saw no point in pretending the Dark Knights meaning was lost on him – better to get to the point. “What would you have me do?”

For just a second Alois swore he saw the Bat’s mouth twitch up at one side and his own smirk widened. Alois had no problem being a weapon or a tool – all the Bat had to do was point and Alois would destroy whatever he was directed at. He only wished that the Bat would condone murder – that would have been so much sweeter, but for now Alois could be content with simply ruining this stranger’s game. So just this once Alois was more than happy to play into the Bat’s plans. 

What was he if not a perfect weapon?

 

 

…  
…

 

  

“Woah there Bats! _Easy_!” 

Flash was beginning to really miss the ‘Flash’ part of his life as he narrowly dodged another punch. The man’s movements were exactly like the Batman he knew and Barry took some relief in the fact that he had actually trained with the man properly. However he’d always had that little extra speed to keep Batman’s crippling blows from landing – here he did not have that luxury and this didn’t feel much like the safe training environment they’d set up on the Watchtower. This felt more like a, one wrong move and you’re dead, type situation. 

There was no confusion this time around, Barry knew this was another replica. Even if the fake hadn’t immediately attacked him, it couldn’t be the real Batman because there was _no_ way that he’d been caught by CM. Despite knowing that, this time with absolutely no doubts that the person he narrowly avoiding taking a punch to the gut from, was not his friend, Barry still struggled a little bit. After all that was still Batman’s face he ended up looking at, his team mate’s voice growling at him whenever he was unable to land a hit.

The small space in the room made dodging increasingly difficult as the fake Batman forced Barry deeper inside, backing him into a corner quickly. Knowing that he was very quickly about to be rendered unconscious or at the very least sporting a very black eye, Barry tried to do something besides back up and dodge. He had always had a bit of a tongue on him. 

“Bats, come on knock it off!” Barry felt the sharp ridges of Batman’s glove brush against his cheek on that last swipe and Barry’s memory was running out of the patterns Batman used in training. “It’s me! You know me right? It’s Barry!” He tried stressing his name, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of the man besides blind rage.

Len had known him, had all of Snart’s memories and even a jumbled mess of his emotions – perhaps this fake had them to? While Barry wasn’t about to hold his breath on the matter, it was still worth a shot.

“ _Bruce_ \--!” Just as Barry was thinking he needed a new plan, his back came up against the edge of the window frame, signifying that he was officially out of wiggle room. A sickening thud was the first indication Barry had that his efforts to dodge had finally fallen short, the pain didn’t come for another second or two and when it did Barry’s entire body sagged forward around the fist firmly planted in his gut. The punch had come so quickly that Barry had missed it between his instinctive glance back at the dead-end he’d met and looking back at Batman.

Much to his horror, the fake Batman twisted his fist, forcing it harder against flesh that was already going to bloom into a nasty bruise. Unable to breathe after having been so thoroughly winded, Barry made a horrible gagging sound and his legs finally gave out, turning to jelly under him. What surprised Barry was that when he dropped, limbs all but useless for those few mind-numbing seconds, he did not fall to the ground. Instead he slumped against the fake’s shoulder and in the back of his currently rebooting mind, Barry felt the fake steady him with one hand on his back. This version of the Dark Knight didn’t let Barry’s limp body hit the ground and instead he rather gently let Barry’s weight fall against him. 

Slowly Barry’s shock addled brain began to catch back up, instructing his screaming lungs to draw in breath again, causing Barry to cough and gasp in a series of rough gulps of air. All the while, the fake Batman allowed him to take his time and had he been anyone else, Barry would have assumed that hand on his back was there to help ease him through the process of learning to breath once again.

“O-One punch, huh?” Barry managed to wheeze out when he had enough air to do so. “Ha…that’s embarrassing.”

He knew it was probably pointless to talk at this point; he had to regain himself and prepare for whatever the fake had been instructed to do with him. Had to be ready to fight Batman. That thought alone made his entire body feel heavier than if he’d been made of solid stone. Fighting Batman with super powers as a friend was trail enough, but to face him as an enemy with _no_ powers at all? It was a nightmare just to think about.

“This is why I stressed training without super powers, Allen.” 

Never before had Barry been so comforted hearing Batman’s familiar low rumble. Without meaning to Barry’s body relaxed, allowing more of his weight to fall onto the fake Batman.

“You, know who I am…” Every word conveyed his relief, and while it wasn’t enough to convince Barry that this Batman wouldn’t murder him outright – it was still something. This fake knew him and that meant that just maybe he could be spoken to, reasoned with – although with how stubborn the Bat was, Barry didn’t get his hopes up too high. 

The silence from the fake Batman wasn’t concerning, it was a familiar quiet and it brought with it a wave of relief. Barry could feel the posture of the man’s shoulders and practically hear the wheels his head turning, after a while the hand that had steadied him curled shut. He wasn’t in immediate danger, Barry knew it was a poor choice to assume the fake was exactly like his Batman but right now it was all he had to go off. 

Frankly Barry was just hoping for a few more seconds to make sure his lunch was going to stay down, his stomach was still churning horribly and he didn’t fancy throwing up in front of the Bat. As the pain began to soften into a dull ache in his chest, Barry realized that this was one of the few times he’d been this close to Batman – real or otherwise. Sometimes during a mission one might need to carry the other if things got sticky, Barry had been charged with carrying a few different League members around at a hasty speed over the years – the Bat was not exempt from this but he was a rare participant.

Everyone knew it was best not to try and touch the Bat, he liked his personal space and very few risked crossing the invisible boarder. Barry had seen Superman do it from time to time, in the early days Batman had snarled at him like he would anyone else and shrug the boy in blue off without a second thought but as the years passed and the two seemed to find some sort of understanding – Batman tolerated him. But that was a special case, just for Superman. Barry would have to ask him what the secret was one day. 

Of course he found it odd that the fake allowed him this close for any extended amount of time. But Barry dared not question in on the off chance it broke whatever strange quiet they’d found and lead to another bat-punch.

“What are you doing here?” Batman asked him a second time, his voice was kept neutral for the most part but after having been teammates for so long, Barry caught the hint of something in there. He couldn’t distinguish it from confusion or apprehension but it was _something_.

“Wish I knew.” To his own ears Barry’s voice sounded strained and he began to wonder if that one punch had broken something in him. Powers or not Barry was not easily rendered so useless after a single punch – there had to be something else at play. Then it dawned on him, in a vivid, bone chilling realisation.

When he’d fist been hit, Barry’s senses had been too busy focusing on the overall pain of the punch but now that he’d had time to adjust his body began to scream in alarm as it noticed that the pain had become very pointed. A searing dot of pain right in the middle of the assaulted area of flesh. Batman had stabbed him with something.

“You…” Barry tried not to gulp and in his efforts he ended up laughing quietly. “…drugged me?”

As if to confirm the accusation, the fake Batman’s hand gripped Barry’s jacket more tightly, keeping a firm hold on his still pathetically limp body. Another disbelieving laugh slipped out of Barry’s mouth as he dropped his head down against the Bat’s shoulder. He wanted to be more offended, but really he should have expected something like this, and it still beat being stabbed outright.

“Had to make sure you couldn’t run.” Batman explained bluntly. “Your hyper metabolism will have it out of your system in no time.” 

“Even if I ran, you’d catch me.” Barry wanted to laugh at Batman’s confusion; the man thought he had his speed currently. “How long till this filters out at a normal human pace?” There was a beat of silence where Batman’s brain finally made sense of Barry’s current predicament and Barry swore that the man looked guilty or maybe at the very least, a bit sorry.

“Half an hour, give or take.”

Before Barry could truly lament on how much of a bad position he was in, the fake began to settle him down on the window ledge. Barry had to admit that these old gothic designs did have very nice windows – if only they weren’t currently boarded up and in a state of disrepair. Barry’s body was beginning to feel properly numb, a few places being filled with an unpleasant sting of pins and needles, so when Batman moved his unwilling limbs, Barry made the occasional sound of discomfort. Without fail, every time he made a sound that even remotely resembled pain, the fake would stop and check him – waiting for some indication from Barry that he was okay before he would continue easing Barry into a sitting position.

When he was finally propped up against the boarded up window, which gave a small protest of its own when Barry’s weight was placed against it, Barry managed one more small chuckle. “You could have just asked Bats, you didn’t need to jump me like that.” 

For his comment Barry got nothing more than a steady stare from the fake Batman before the man turned away from him, apparently convinced that Barry was harmless and unable to make an attempt to escape. He used this freedom to take a quick glance around the room, and Barry watched him in silence, hoping for some indication as to what it was he was looking for. Batman looked over every bed and corner of the room, definitely looking for something and when he gaze fell on the space above Barry and the window – he had found whatever it was he was seeking. Noire’s nest. Barry swore he saw the man’s expression soften behind his mask but it could have been a trick of the dim lighting.

“Why are you here Flash?” That was his third time asking and Barry didn’t think he’d be keen on making it to a fourth.

“He wants me to find something.” Barry muttered quietly, his own eyes flicking around the rundown room. CM had lead him here with that kid, created this little stage of his and Barry knew in his gut that the man was trying to make him find something a little more than just a riddle. Maybe he’d brought him to this children’s home in the hopes that Barry would find some of his own childhood in there, part of that backstory game they were playing.

There was every chance that Barry was simply trying to humanize this monster, trying to find shreds of the person he might have been at one point before he took up the mantel of the Crooked Man. His heart was soft, Barry knew it but he dared not harden it for fear of becoming someone he was never meant to be. 

“He?” Batman took one look at Barry before some sort of understanding settled over his face. “So you are here on the Crooked Man’s behalf?”

That idea absolutely made Barry’s skin crawl. He was not here on that man’s behalf – he was here because he had been dragged into this mess kicking and screaming. Most notably he was here because for just a moment he’d felt the speed force against his skin and had hoped to find its source to get out of this place. But of course Barry didn’t say any of that, trying instead to stick to the problem at hand.

“Bats, you gotta understand what’s going on right?” There was a terrible effort made to make sure his voice didn’t come across as too desperate or hopeful – an effort that fell just shy of his goal. “You must know that you’re not…”

The words died on the tip of his tongue as Batman looked at him again, expression not quite cold but closer to something like curiosity. Abruptly Barry was reminded of Len’s own mutterings – he hadn’t wanted to die. Fake or not he didn’t want to die in that little glass cage, how could Barry expect this Bruce to feel any differently?

“What is it Flash?” Something about the way Batman’s voice almost halted before he spoke Barry’s hero name concerned him. Mostly because he’d never known the Batman to be unsure when using his own words. Other than most everything else wrong with this scene, there was something particularly disconcerting about Batman’s behaviour.

Oh sure, the punching and drugging didn’t send off half as many alarm bells as a single stutter from the Bat. It’s just that Barry had been hit plenty more times than he’d heard even the slightest hitch in the man’s voice. Of course one was more concerning than the other, if only because of how alien it sounded to him.

“I’m looking for the riddle, you know about it right?” Barry decided to just barrel straight on in. This fake probably knew where the riddle was like the fake Hal had, but Barry was still trying to figure out just how much of the real Batman had been put into this replica. It was only because he was studying the man in the cowl so closely that Barry noticed he was being studied in return. Not unusual for the Bat but also not something he’d expected from a replica.

“I haven’t yet located it.” Batman admitted in a frustrated growl. “I’ve been through most of the home. I’ve already searched the places I thought he would choose to put it. This was the final room to check and I just so happened to find _you_ here. I don’t believe that to be a coincidence. I assumed you had the riddle.”

“I’ve been looking as well. Haven’t had much luck till I ran into you and I’m not exactly sure being drugged counts as a step in the right direction.”

“I was not positive it would actually work.” Shrugging off Barry’s somewhat dry comment, Batman turned away from in once again, doing a second sweep of the room, but this time there was no urgency to his searching, the Dark Knight more looked like he was browsing. “Never can be sure in this place. The rules change.”

Barry had a thing or two that he wouldn’t mind saying about that statement, first and foremost he wanted to point out how much of a gross understatement it was. The Crooked Man played by his rules, if he thought it should snow, it would and if he were to suddenly decided that there would be no gravity, Barry would be floating before he even had the chance to complain.

“I had thought I was prepared for anything.” Batman murmured under his breath and Barry could just see how his eyebrows knitted together under his cowl, bringing the already scowling mask into a tighter grimace. “I expected as much, to be brought back to this place and dragged through every blasted stage he could come up with – but I had not anticipated you. That was a mistake on my part, of course he’d choose you at some point.”

For a terrifying second Barry’s heart thudded to a halt when Batman turned his sharp eyes on him. There was something unfamiliar in a face that Barry knew so well – Batman didn’t look at him like a friend or ally, not even as a hindrance. The look behind that gaze was something like pain.

“He picked you to bring here.” Batman mused to himself bitterly. “I would have expected the girl or one of those brothers – it would have made sense to bring me here to see them. Ha, to look upon my sins in the form of a trusting face – how bitingly vindictive. But I got you instead. You _never_ belonged here. It was to stay that way.”

There was an accusation in the Bat’s voice that Barry was still trying to make sense of. His stare was still one of a stranger and even though they’d exchanged civil words earlier – he didn’t look at Barry like a friend of any kind. 

Then to make it worse, adding a chill to the horrible churning sensation in Barry’s gut, Batman laughed. It was rare to get a smile out of the Bat and even harder to get so much as a single chuckle of amusement – but this laugh wasn’t like the fleeting warm chuckles Barry had occasionally gotten to hear from Bruce. It was cold and lacked even a single shred of amusement. Barry could have lived his whole life without ever hearing the sound. 

“Maybe he gave me you so that I could confess.” Barry would have tried to back away from the larger man’s approach but his legs weren’t going anywhere with that drug still roaring through his veins. So Barry had no choice but to sit motionless, unable to even bring up his arms to defend himself, as the replica approached him. The best Barry could do in the way of motion was a single cringe as the man’s shadow fell over him. Without a single pause in his fluid movement the fake Batman reached forward to grab a fist full of Barry’s already shortly cropped blonde hair, and tugged up mercilessly.

Barry did not exactly cry out in pain but there was a distinct sound of discomfort as he was jerked upwards, the weight of his body falling primarily on his neck and scalp. It was unfortunate that the uncomfortable sensation was no stranger to Barry, as a hero he’d frequently been grabbed like this by his more mischievous villains – they seemed to like the helplessness that being pulled around by one’s hair seemed to invoke. That or the control was what made the motion so appealing. 

“Bats--!” He tried to talk but the hand not currently tearing his hair out at the roots, covered Barry’s mouth. Efficiently shutting him up for at least a few seconds. Somehow Barry didn’t think that licking Batman’s gloved hand was going to coerce him into letting go – this wasn’t grade school tactics anymore. Although it might have worked on lesser enemies, it might have actually worked once or twice in the past. But Barry liked the ability to speak and didn’t fancy losing his tongue if the fake Batman took offence to the pitiful attempt.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Batman snarled, low and forced as he pulled Barry up further, coaxing his neck to ark back and for his body to gradually lift from his seated position. He didn’t have Barry dangling yet but there was always time for things to get worse. “Whatever he’s programed you to be like, whatever he wants you to say – I will not hear it. Not this time.”

Now sometimes Flash had been accused of somehow being the slowest of the Justice League, not far behind Hal on that front, when it came to understanding situations. It was ironic but Barry would also argue not true. Sometimes people needed a little bit of a laugh, something light hearted to help take away from a heavy situation – he simply provided that. Maybe once or twice he was the last one to understand something but Barry would always argue that the Flash was much smarter than people gave him credit for. 

Hal said it was pride talking, Bruce said it was naivety – but neither would claim he was dumb or slow on the uptake. Sometimes Barry Allen was just a little late to the party.

Today could not and would not be one of those times. He couldn’t afford to make a joke or fall behind right now and so he didn’t bother fumbling with clumsy insults or comments and instead focused on exactly what the fake was saying. How he said it, what it implied and very quickly Barry put it together and his heart sank right into the soles of his shoes. 

The replica thought that Barry was the fake. 

How many stages had CM put in this Batman’s head to make him believe it was real? What had the man put him through? Barry thought about everything the Batman had weighing on his shoulders and he could guess. Barry saw a rainy backstreet in Gotham after the screening of a new Zoro film had ended. He saw an angry young man in a red mask and of course there was always that clown’s smile. Batman hardly needed fake stages to be put through hell but Barry knew that CM would have made them anyway.

“Perhaps he was clever to pick you.” Batman continued, voice a little softer but no less callous as he looked at Barry’s exposed face. “But I won’t let him best me by hiding behind a familiar face.” 

Barry wanted to scream, to move – just anything to try and tell Batman he was real, that he wasn’t something made by CM in order to trick him. But when he tried to open his mouth to speak, Batman’s gloved hand only pressed harder, stifling any sound Barry might have tried to make.

“I won’t accept it.”

Abruptly Barry stopped struggling, cracking one eye open to look up at the fake Batman. The tone of his voice had startled Barry, the growl was lost and even though there was something of Batman still in there – this voice was distinctly Bruce Wayne. The hands that held Barry were unsteady, even the grip he had on Barry’s hair was beginning to loosen which caused Barry’s hand to painfully pull and catch against the material of Batman’s gloves. 

“I won’t accept you.” Bruce repeated, changing one word as his voice further softened into something rickety and uneven. It sounded like speaking was painful for him. “Even if he offers everything, I won’t accept it.”

For a moment Bruce was quiet, struggling with something Barry didn’t quite understand before he roughly dropped Barry, pushing him back against the boarded up window – which this time screamed in protest at the sudden weight – but remained in one piece much to Barry’s relief. 

“I have a riddle to find.” Bruce was gone and Batman was back, just as furious and calculating as always. Whatever he’d been thinking of was being forced to the back of his mind, repressed with most of the other thoughts and feelings Batman deemed a potential distraction.

“B-Bruce!” Unwilling to sit idly until the Bat decided he needed another dose of the drug, Barry tried his hand at reasoning with the man. “I’m not one of his fakes, I’m really Barry – I swear. C-Come on Bats, I’ll tell you something only I could know.”

“Something like Eobard Thawne killing your mother? Or maybe the little blunder through time you took – those sort of things Allen?” Batman’s tone was harsh but he didn’t manhandle Barry again, instead opting to keep a fair distance between them. 

Barry’s mouth felt dry when Batman rattled off a few of the things he might have said. In response to his stunned silence Batman only gave a single derisive huff. “There’s nothing you could say that he hasn’t programmed you to say.” There was a ghost of something behind his eyes. “Nothing you could promise that he hasn’t thought I might want.” 

“CM…he gave you things you wanted?” Not exactly the scenario Barry had been forced through but for the Bat perhaps it was worse. The temptation to take even the smallest things must have killed him.

Barry thought about his mother, about how tempting it would be if CM dangled her life and his father’s freedom in front of him – even if he knew it was fake. Barry would still _want_ it. And there was just _so_ much that Bruce Wayne wanted, things the Bat wouldn’t even entertain as a passing thought.

“There has to be something.” Pleading was all he had at this point, if Batman knew how these games worked, he probably knew that he was suppose to somehow get rid of Barry. The Batman didn’t kill but…he might just kill an illusion. It wasn’t technically murder if it was just a fake doll, right? “Something that can prove it’s me. Maybe I can--” 

“Barry Allen is dead!” 

The accusation roared in Barry’s mind, long after Batman’s voice had gone silent in the little room. Batman had barely glanced at him, not even raised his voice as he spoke the single comment. There was an absolution to his tone that shook Barry to his core; looking at this version of Batman he realized that, at least to this man, he really was dead.

“How…?” The small broken question slipped out of Barry before he could thing better of it. 

“It was--” Batman took a small breath in an effort to compose himself. “An accident. We weren’t ready, no one was on alert – we all thought it was over. But you were always so _fast_. You saw it first, the danger and then like an idiot you got in the way. You…you were playing hero again. God _damn it,_ Barry. Why couldn’t you have just thought for once?”

Even if his Barry Allen was dead, Batman seemed to have plenty of angry questions and comments he wanted to hurl at Barry. Because the best he could manage in his version of life was talking to a tombstone.

“I know you meant well.” Batman continued, his voice was never rushed but Barry could feel the uncontrollable way that the words were tumbling out of Bruce. He was only human and could only hold so much in for so long. Admittedly he lasted longer than most, but even the Bat had a breaking point. “I know you did what you thought was best to protect the team, to protect us – but your recklessness…it got you killed!”

“The team fell apart, Superman was so angry. We all were, it was blinding – before we knew it Superman had taken Luthor out and the rest of us seemed to just fall in line. Because we were weak, filled with fear, with grief. We thought we were _right_ …”

Suddenly it hit Barry, he knew this story – or at least a variation of it. Batman had been known to play with elements others would rather leave untouched – alternate dimensions fell into this category. Bruce had reluctantly shared some of his limited knowledge on various realities with the team and after Barry accidentally ran in one of his experiments, he had shared a bit more with the flustered speedster.

Universes where the league didn’t exist, variations of the league – lords, syndicates – all sorts of alternatives that for the most part were unpleasant. It had been one of Batman’s reasons behind creating a contingency plan for all league members. A safety precaution that had upset the league initially but gradually just became a fact of life they lived with. Everyone knew that if they went the wrong way – the Bat would be there ready with a plan they’d never even considered to remove their threat to the world.

From what Barry knew, this reality the Batman was describing – this was one of the universes that played host to the Justice Lords as opposed to the League. It wasn’t the same as the world Bruce had shared with him – he wasn’t really involved with the Justice Lords – that had been something Wally had to manage in that universe. How CM had found out about this Barry would have to find out later. For now this variation of Batman looked about as distressed as Batman could ever get without lashing out and hitting someone into unconsciousness. 

“You’re…a Justice Lord?” Barry tested uncertainly.

“ _Was_.” The Batman corrected sharply. “The Justice Lords do not stand for an ideology I can condone.”

“Then you destroyed them?” The question must have caught Batman off guard because he glanced at Barry with an unguarded expression. It was a fleeting indication of surprise, but it was enough. “You did, didn’t you? That’s what Batman – _our_ Batman would do. If we stepped out of line like that.” 

“I did nothing more than what needed to be done.” Batman’s expression hardened and Barry knew there were things he wouldn’t tell him. Even if this Batman thought he was the real Barry Allen - there were things he would have kept to himself.

“So you did…” Barry, despite knowing the dangers of looking too deeply into things he should have let be, had to ask. “Was it easy?” Maybe Barry was letting irrational fears and anger get the better of him. It was possible that in him somewhere, like all the other League members, there was a shred of distrust harbored towards Batman. “To turn on us?”

Barry didn’t hate Bruce, he wasn’t suspicious of him – really he wasn’t. Bruce was his teammate; they worked together, talked and trusted one another as much as they possibly could. They were _friends_.

But sometimes it was the Bat that unnerved him.

“Damn it Barry, of course it wasn’t!” The force behind Batman’s snarl momentarily threw Barry off guard. Whatever self-righteous anger he’d been feeling dwindling away in mere seconds.

In a small burst of rage, Batman grabbed him by the front of his shirt, jerking up his still boneless body. Barry let out a hiss of pain as the rough, uneven wood of the window frame scratched his arm on the way past. He didn’t immediately notice it but after the small pang of pain passed – Barry realized he’d actually _felt_ it. The numbness was beginning to fade.

“I did what I had to do, for the planet – for what was right. If you were there, if you were _alive_ – you would have seen it.” The grind of the man’s teeth looked painful and Barry was surprised he couldn't hear a grating sound. “You think it was easy, huh? It wasn’t, in no sense of the word was it _easy_. Containing any member of the team is a feat in itself, but to stop all of them at once – it was a fight we very nearly lost.” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He was stalling now. That small pin prick of pain told Barry he’d soon have his body back, maybe a little clumsy and tingly – but functional. He just had to keep this Bat talking. “We are your friends – was it easy to turn on us?”

“No.” He admitted quietly. “But it was harder to see them turn their back on everyone else.”

“What did you do to them?”

A pause, the grip on Barry’s shirt tightened till he feared the fabric would tear into pieces. 

“It varies. Lantern was sent to Oa for trial – held accountable for the same crime as his mentor – excessive dictatorship of a planet. He was eventually returned to Earth by the guardians, imprisoned here under our laws. Diana and Arthur went in a similar fashion, back to their own people for judgment. Green Arrow…well he never decided to humor us. Fell off the grid once it all started, kept his hands clean – out of respect or mourning I can’t say.” 

Batman spoke and Barry tried to focus on his arms, looking for the dull ache where his skin had been split open by the rough wood seconds before. Among the disconcerting numbness there was a small prick of discomfort and Barry focused on that, trying to garner more feeling in the rest of his body. But his attention was very acutely split in two – it was never easy to block out the Batman and when he was recounting the fates of their team it became an impossible task.

“And Superman?” Batman didn’t flinch – at least Barry didn’t know the man to flinch but the small tense of his shoulders was as close to a flinch as Barry hoped to get.

“He…”

Again Batman grit his teeth and Barry felt a small swell of regret – despite everything he knew Superman and Batman had a strong friendship. Batman wouldn’t call it that but everyone knew they were vital to each other in some way or another. Barry thought that quietly Batman looked at Superman with the same hope as the rest of the world – Superman was the best of them after all.

“He is imprisoned in solitary confinement, cut off from the sun and isolated from humanity, indefinitely for crimes against humanity.” It was an explanation given in the flattest tone the Bat could manage but that only pushed Barry’s prying. 

“Do you visit him?”

“Visit?” The word sounded alien on Bruce’s tongue. “Why would I..?” 

“Did you?” Barry pressed getting a little angry. “If it was you in there, we would have gone to see you, Bats!” 

The grasp Batman had on Barry’s shirt gradually loosened until he dropped Barry back against the window. This time when it creaked in displeasure Barry paid it very close attention. He could just feel the uncomfortable rub of the flaky wood against his back and now that he focused on it, Barry could also feel how the wooden planks bent promisingly against his body. They were frail and Barry was positive that, given enough incentive, they would break. 

Holding onto that small hope, Barry kept his eyes trained on Batman.

“Only you would say something so stupid.” Batman laughed, the sound still lacking any humor but it was not quite so cold this time – it was just empty. “You truly are a stunning replica. Just this once…I think I might indulge myself just a bit. So listen closely replica – it’ll be our secret.”

Definitely edging over into uncomfortable territory, Barry had to force himself not to move an inch as the Batman replica bent low to peer at him. Barry had to make sure the dark vigilante didn’t realize he was beginning to shake off the drug.

“Going to tell me your favourite colour is actually hot pink instead of black, Bats?” Barry tried for a little joke to fight off the intimidating feeling practically radiating off the taller man.

“I never said black was my favourite.” Batman replied without missing a beat. “But Black was _your_ favourite, wasn’t he?”

Despite his efforts to remain limp, Barry did tense just a bit at the tone Batman was using when mentioning Noire.

“You did everything to keep that child safe – you fool. In the end you died because you didn’t know when to let go and relinquish the roll of a parent – he wasn’t yours to protect anyway. Maybe you should have just…” 

“Not protected him?” Barry demanded, unintentionally shouting. “Is that what you’re going to tell me? Huh, Bats?”

“Just let him make his own mistakes.” Batman corrected smoothly. He then hummed thoughtfully, glancing around the children’s home once more. “Perhaps Crooked Man was right to send you here, it makes sense in a way. You never walked in these halls when you were alive – you never even knew this is where those brothers were born, did you?”

“What?”

“You raised Noire – but did you ever actually know a thing about him?” Batman asked, voice cold. “This place, when it was still running, was home to those two and their mother. What? Did you think the Crooked Man lived here? Maybe he would have liked to at one point – to belong to some sort of family besides his own.”

“How do you know this?” Barry didn’t buy into the fake’s words too deeply but he did feel a traitorous niggling suspicion in the back of his head that said the replica was telling the truth. However his question wasn’t to test the man’s honesty – it was to get him thinking. How _did_ he know this?

Batman was always clever; surely he would realize like Len that he should not have access to this information. It was information the Crooked Man had programed into his head – not his own.

“Because I owned this building.” Or that. That could also explain it.

Barry just stared at Batman, not sure what to do with that information and just like that the truth began to fall out of Batman. A dam had been broken and he was spilling all his secrets out before Barry – who he really thought to be dead.

“I bought it a few months after I met the Harlows. It wasn’t worth much all things considered, cost me a pretty penny but that never mattered too much. The kids were scared at first – being sold like live stock but we tried to make it right. Give them real clothes and proper meals, made it better, made it safe. Bruce Wayne got all the publicity of course – saving orphans like himself – it was an easy pitch to make and the media loved it.”

“Of course after I met Lacie, I got roped into that promise. I already had so many secrets what was one more?” Batman chuckled dryly, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “Then she got killed, died when the Crooked Man decided he wanted to shine. Maybe I could have saved him. I always wondered if I could have. If I’d moved a bit faster, tried to reach out and stop him somehow – something. But I didn’t, no one did and so they both died.” 

“You knew their mother?” Barry had never heard of any of this, all he knew about Noire and Alois’s mother was the snippets he could get out of Noire. Talk of lessons she taught them, the way her smile lit up the room – small details like that and eventually he even got her name. Although that detail had come from one of Noire’s louder night terrors.

“I did.” Batman answered firmly. “Briefly, but it was enough.”

“What did you promise her?” Barry asked curiously. He knew Batman kept his promises but tried not to make them freely – considering what he was saying, this promise most likely occurred just before her death. It must have been important to him at least.

“I promised…”

And he stopped. Abruptly, violently, his entire body seemed to lock up as he realized something – he did not know. Barry saw it on his face, no cowl could hide an expression so acutely shocked – the fact that he did not know his own promise must have struck him more forcefully than Barry could even imagine.

But Barry did not share the caped crusaders surprise – because he already knew that this man was not real.  
And the Crooked Man did not know the Batman’s secret, whatever it was he’d promised Lacie was kept between the dead girl and the Dark Knight.

He watched as it began to formulate in in this Batman’s mind. In reality Barry had noticed that this version of the Bat was a little off – at least when talking about CM. The way he spoke about the man’s death, the possibility of what he might have felt about the children’s home – that definitely wasn’t the Bat talking. No, that had to be the Crooked Man’s influence leaking through the cracks in the façade. Barry was pretty sure that Batman had noticed it himself and was just trying to write it off as something brought about by being emotionally compromised when looking at a deceased ally.

However he could only force himself not to see for so long.

The suspicion must have been finally dawning on him by now, the doubt and maybe even denial was all in there but Barry didn’t have the time to coax the fake to accept his fate – his limbs were movable once again. With enough feeling in his body to warrant an attempt at movement, Barry knew he had to take a chance while he could.

“This version of the world.” He began slowly. “Is not one I want to believe in. A reality where Supes turns on the world, one where you turn on us – I don’t want it. So…even though I don’t want to hurt anyone – I’m going to fight to get back home. Back to my world where we’re together like we should be. I’m not interested in the Crooked Man’s realities. I’m getting out of here.”

For his comments, Barry got a stare from the Dark Knight. The cowl did make it hard to read him sometimes but Barry knew the stare was one of surprise. Something he didn't see nearly as much as he did the man’s scowl. That was fine – Barry sort of liked the glowering better, it felt more like the Bat he knew.

“You get it don’t you big guy?” Barry managed a smile but he knew without being able to see his own face that it was an unpleasant expression, too corrupted by pity and frustration to be the comfort he intended it to be. “Looks like the fake one – is you.” 

Then as fast as he could manage without his speed and the lingering pins and needles in his legs, Barry lifted both feet off the ground and planted them firmly into Batman’s pelvis. The force of the kick not only pushed the man away from Barry but it abruptly put a great pressure on the window and boards behind him. 

This time it hardly creaked, barely complained and instead simply gave away under the strain of Barry’s body. The glass that was already shattered from the outside, gave away without a fight as the rotting wooden planks snapped at the weakest points and through the hole made – Barry let his body fall.

They were on the second floor, he knew that it would hurt but still he let his body drop off the ledge without any resistance. In a strange way he almost trusted the Crooked Man not to let him fall to his death. No – CM wanted this game drawn out and he’d created the Batman to do just that, he would not let a simple fall kill his intended victim. 

Even as the little room vanished from his sight and Barry was instead faced with the dark skies of an overcast Gotham – he could hear Bruce shout after him. At first he thought it was a wordless roar but distantly he could just make out his name in the sound. He wondered if it hurt this Batman to see his body drop from their height – wondered if for just a moment Bruce saw what Barry had seen in Len. Wondered if for that split second – he’d caused Batman to watch his death again.

Fake or not, Barry wouldn’t wish that feeling onto the man that wore the face of a friend. Still, he had to do what he had to do. Right now Barry needed to find a riddle and best another challenge. Because the next time he saw Batman, he knew he’d have to talk to him. When he saw his Batman again – Barry had questions. He wanted to know why Bruce was keeping secrets about Noire from him. But before the interrogation Barry wanted to give the man a bone-crushing hug – he was really beginning to miss everyone. He wanted to be back in the real world, away from the doll house – so that he could see them all once again.

Keeping those thoughts as the air rushed past his head, whipping at his ears as he fell, Barry tried not to focus on how painful the impact was going to be. Tried to force down the scream and taste of bile in his throat as his back landed against the hard ground with a sickening crack. 

Up above him, against the outline of the dark Gotham evening sky, Barry swore he could see someone seating atop the children’s home, watching him from the high up vantage point. Even though he knew he was probably delirious, Barry was positive he saw that person smile down at him and even with every inch of his body aching so bad he thought he’d broken himself – that smile calmed him.

His vision was hazy at best and rapidly becoming more watery with every passing second. The sharp impact had knocked the wind out of him and Barry knew that he was going to pass out. He was probably concussed but he couldn’t fight off the sleepy haze that gradually pulled him down into unconsciousness.

Just as Barry’s eyes began to droop shut a shadow fell over him and Barry knew it would be the replica Batman. He could even hear the man say his name in a desperate way. Demanding he not fall asleep – cursing him for being so reckless and stupid, the things that Barry had always heard from Bats when he’d messed up badly. 

It was probably a bad sign he took the scolding for comfort – but it felt so similar to his Batman it was hard not to relax into the angry verbal lashing. He had a vague understanding that his efforts amounted to nothing when the Batman picked up his sore body, he knew when he awoke next he’d be lucky not to be drugged again and there was a definite possibility of being bound. 

But for now his head ached too bad and his body needed no drug to be rendered useless and so he gradually slipped away into darkness, clutching at the fake Batman’s arm out of habit as he passed out.

 


	8. Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have a thing.  
> Have a better thing later.

“Where is the brat?” Hal muttered for what felt like the hundredth time. Sure the comment had come in different variations previously, kinder terminology being used for the ‘brat’ when his search first began. As the search stretched on the language became a little less family friendly, but Hal was yet to break out any swears. There was still time left for that.

The limited information Bats had given him before sending him into Central City to locate Noire wasn’t helping matters. Hal counted himself lucky that the kid wasn’t a speedster or teleporter – he could hover but no faster than he could run so Hal was confident in his assumption that Noire would be lurking somewhere in Central City.

Still the kid was notorious for slipping away unseen, he was a literal shadow at times. The only person better at vanishing into small dark spaces was Batman and he did it with no superpowers at all. Then again Hal’s poor track record with finding a Bat that didn’t want to be found wasn’t exactly encouraging him.

After having scanned through the familiar streets of Central City for some time, Hal cut off his ring’s power and lifted himself up above the city. From the sky the city seemed impossibly darker, the small flickering lights not doing much to help his situation. If Noire wanted to disappear, night was the best time to do it.

Part of Hal, a loud and rebellious part of him said he ought to leave the kid to his teenaged hissy fits – let him lurk and brood until he was as depressing as Spooky was. That section of his mind was the most vocal and the one Hal frequently spoke with, but it was the smaller, quieter voice in the back of his mind that Hal most often acted on, and right now it was worried. Noire was still just a kid, a stupid reckless kid with a messed up aging mechanic.

And right now, he was a kid without a parent.

Noire for all his bravado and bitter comments was probably beginning to feel that loneliness by now. After all, this was the same kid that had at one point required Barry to sit with him until he fell asleep and even accepted Hal’s presence for the light his ring provided when Barry absolutely could not be there. Hal couldn’t say they were his fondest memories; Noire did have a terrible habit of kicking him when he thought that Hal assumed he was asleep. Little shit. 

But none the less, Barry’s exhausted face lighting up in utter delight when he came home to see Noire fast asleep with Hal by his side was enough to keep the Lantern from childishly taking revenge on the spiteful boy. That and a few other things but they were thoughts pushed to the back of Hal’s mind and he had no intention of revisiting them tonight or any other night. 

It was nothing Hal couldn’t fly off.

“Come on kid.” Hal muttered, gaze sweeping over the city once again. “Where are you hiding?”

Bats had instructed him to check the local community college that Noire frequented for classes, hoping to catch the kid lurking around after hours just so he didn’t have to go home. When the ring found no signs of a creature matching Noire’s genetic make up – which was easily identifiable at close range – Hal had to try different locations that Batman had rattled off for him.

Hal had flown over various construction areas, places Noire would sometimes lend his hand at hard labor on the off chance he could make a few dollars. Hal still remembered when he first began these little errands, when he was smaller he’d done the traditional children jobs – mowing lawns, helping elder citizens with household chores, cleaning cars, fetching groceries and the like. Barry had been positively glowing with parental pride as he watched the boy help the community – sometimes Hal thought Barry forgot that he was not Noire’s father, but he dared not ruin the illusion. 

It was not in his nature to pry and Hal did all he could not to come across as calculating and callous as Batman did – but even he had to take a step back from time to time and really look at Barry’s behavior. To the speedster it must have seemed like he’d actually raised Noire from childhood and while that was technically true – they’d only been living under the same roof for nearly a year. Noire aged quickly, the process slowing the older he got – Barry only got maybe three months with Noire as a child. 

In a way that was a relief, it bypassed a lot of the tantrums a child would have but Noire had yet to fully shake the feeling of a cranky teenager as he neared his adult body. Hal still remembered the panic Barry had flown into when he thought Noire would age too rapidly and die before he’d even had a full two years of life with Barry. It had been a concern at first – if Noire kept aging as quickly as he had been he wouldn’t have made five years before dying of old age. 

Of course Batman was always there to pull the metaphorical pin on Barry’s panic. He had a fairly solid theory on how Noire would age. While there were some holes in it, he got most of it right and the knowledge that Noire would most likely outlive his guardian – as every child should according to Barry – helped to settle the whole situation. During the entire ordeal, Noire hadn’t seemed worried in the slightest. As if death was just another part of his day, although in the early days Noire didn’t seem to care about much so it was difficult to tell if the idea had really bothered him or not.

Hal couldn't help but feel a little frustrated – Barry could have just taken his word for it instead of the Bat’s. Okay, sure – he didn't have any data or theories compiled with god damn flow charts – but he knew!

He knew Norie would be fine because that’s just the type of creature he was – but he couldn't argue that point with Barry without going off into a spiel about how he knew that. Granted he had about six separate lies he could have picked from that were all perfectly believable and explained everything in a neat little bow – Hal just didn’t fancy lying to Barry when he could help it.

As superheroes there did tend to be a common theme of deceit among them no matter what they did – secret identities being the most prominent of these necessary lies. Hal was much more comfortable knowing his teammates real names now days, but it hadn’t always been like that.

Still perhaps Barry could be Noire’s surrogate father – the kid had never had a real father to begin with. It was one of those rare occasions where the father had not died, or just up and bolted – Noire had not technically been born and there had _never_ been a father. Just a creator that he so happened to name mother. That always seemed odd to Hal – with how young their ‘mother’ had been. Hal knew that both her boys would have outgrown her by now – she would have liked to see them all grown up.

Just like any of their parents would, Hal liked to think that his father would be proud of the man he became. Maybe a little reckless if one was to believe Batman’s lectures – but a good man all the same.

A good man that was not about to leave some lost child out on his own for another night – no matter how much of a brat the kid was. 

“Alright Noire.” Hal muttered under his breath, bringing his ring up watching at the familiar green hue glinted almost mischievously. Hal had not yet ruled out the possibility of the rings having their own little quirks just yet. “If you’re not at home, and you’re not at work or school – you only have one hiding place left.”

He didn’t want to go, but Hal planned to have a stern word with the brat about running off without any way of contacting him. Hal was no Batman but he was fairly confident in his own lecture skills when the time arose. So with a small, reluctant smile, Hal set off towards Central City’s borders. With a clear idea where he was going and a certainty that the kid would be there, Hal made short work of the travel across the city – there was no traffic in the sky after all, really helped things along. 

When the small grassy patch of land came into sight, Hal wasted no time setting himself down back on the earth and with a quick look to make sure no one was watching, stripped himself of his Lantern uniform back down into the civilian clothes his ring covered over. Noire might hate his face, but he hated the uniform even more and the last thing Hal needed was for the kid to lash out at him for offending his eyes with the green. Hal quite liked his uniform and having Noire constantly refer to it as a ‘costume’ was one of the many things the kid liked to say just to grate on his nerves.

As the now powered down Lantern passed through the rusty gates surrounding one of the smaller cemeteries in the city, he couldn’t help but grimace at just how run down the place was. Some of the older graves that no longer had visitors were left to suffer under the rapid growth of moss and grass. A few were even cracked in places where the plant life took quick advantage of any weakness to grow out of. It was just a place in need of an extensive renovation. Even the newer graves didn’t look very impressive, but in a way this was a place made for quiet rest. The people placed here rarely had living relatives and it was uncommon for anyone to visit – which is why when Lacie died, Batman had suggested it. 

There had been quite the argument over the whole thing. After all those that had known Lacie before her passing argued she should be buried where she was born – far, far away from Central City. But it mattered very little, the stone slab sitting in this cemetery dedicated to the girl was just that – a stone. There was no body, after the rubble had been cleared they never successfully found her remains, at least nothing they could put into a casket. So under the ground her tombstone was place upon was nothing but empty soil.

Ultimately the tomb had been placed in this location for one reason alone – Central City was the place her children had chosen to live in. They might have been created in Gotham – but Central City was home and where her boys were – Lacie ought to be as well.

Which is why Hal wasn’t surprised in the slightest when he saw Noire curled up against the familiar white stone. The boy looked like he’d tried to properly curl in on himself, legs pulled up to his chin with his arms wound around them to keep them steady, but somewhere down the line he must have dozed off and his grip failed him. Rather than toppling over however, Noire’s body had simply gone lax against the stone as if it was a comfort to him while he slept.

In all honesty Hal couldn’t decide between provocative the kid or sitting down next to him and letting him continue to sleep. Neither would be a wise choice – he still had work to do and finding Noire was only step one. All the same he felt a small wave of relief when he saw the kid was unharmed and he hoped to see Barry in the same state.

Letting a small sigh slip out, Hal approached the sleeping boy with his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. Noire looked much less unfriendly when he slept, less like he was seconds away from trying to bite Hal for standing too close. But Hal couldn't claim the kid looked calm when asleep, rather his face looked a little bit restless and uneasy. He’d heard people say that when sleeping people would relax and appear younger, but he didn’t see any of that tranquility on Noire’s sleeping face. He looked terrified to Hal and he wasn't sure if fear was a better alternative to sadness. 

“Come on kiddo.” Hal murmured as he gradually eased down into a crouch in front of Noire. “Time to get up.” He was bold enough to reach forward and pat Noire’s cheek maybe a tad too roughly.

The resulting groan and shift of Noire’s shoulders got a laugh out of Hal, it was like stirring a grumpy cat. It took a bit more coaxing before Noire’s eye opened and for just a moment Hal was thrown off guard. The kid didn’t have his contacts in, his red eyes did sometimes startle even Hal. The cemetery setting and dim lighting added to the illusion and for just a moment Noire looked like a ghost sleeping beside his own grave. Not a thought Hal would share with the kid.

“Jordan…?” Noire was still groggy but when he uttered Hal’s name there was a distinct tone of distaste. Well at least that was familiar. 

“The one and only, up you get kid.” Knowing the boy was still half out of it Hal reached down to grab him by the shoulder and help ease the younger man back onto two unsteady legs.

“What are you doing here?” 

“What no hello?” Hal asked, feigning hurt. “Even after I searched up and down Central City for you – how cruel.”

There was a moment of silence as Noire tried to shake off his doziness and Hal had to quash the urge to ask just how long Noire had been sleeping there. It was a slow process but gradually Noire caught up with his surroundings, turned to look in Hal’s direction with a suspicious expression. 

“Barry sent you?” He asked slowly, a weariness in his tone that almost got Hal to fib. It wouldn’t be the first time Barry asked Hal to help him find Noire. When he was still young the kid did tend to vanish without warning.

“Not quite. Batman actually.” Then like any kid that knew they were in for it, Noire tensed and groaned at the mention of Batman. Oh sure, when Hal got called in by Barry for help Noire couldn’t care less but if it was _Batman_ that was looking for him – it suddenly became a problem. Hal was feeling a little unappreciated here.

“Where is Barry?”

Hal was a little surprised by Noire’s question. The tenseness in his shoulders remained as he spoke and Hal realized that Norie might not be so worried about getting scolded. Slowly, as if he was fighting off a headache, Noire began to apply pressure to his temples, eyebrows furrowing together tightly as he tried to focus. 

“He…I went back to the house.” Noire began slowly, as if piecing together a memory he’d accidentally shattered. “We had a fight, so I left to cool off – but when I tried to go back, I couldn’t get the doors open. I thought he locked me out, thought he was still angry – but even when I tried to hidden key he thinks I don’t know about – it didn’t unlock.”

With every piece of the memory Noire put back together, the boy’s words began to fall out of his mouth quicker, becoming mashed together in a hurried mess. This was what Noire sounded like when he began to panic, Hal realized with a jolt of alarm.

“I tried hitting it – I tried breaking it, nothing. I couldn’t get in. The windows, the back door – all of it was impossible to get through. Even the chimney was closed off. We never…Barry _never_ shuts that damn thing. It gets so cold because of the draft, but he never shuts that stupid chimney. What if he’s not coming back? What if Barry doesn’t want--”

“Aright, alright, I get it.” Hal tried to console the kid as his frantic words turned into a tremble in his body, probing fingers becoming more like claws against his temples as he began to panic. Gently he grabbed hold of Noire’s shoulders, momentarily pausing to gradually pull his hands away from his head before the kid unintentionally scratched himself.

“I _get_ it Noire. It’ll be okay, Spooky is already looking for Barry – relax.” 

Then much to Hal’s shock, Noire slumped against him, grabbing fist fulls of his shirt as he sought out some sort of comfort. The kid must have been in a bad place to come to _him_ for that comfort. 

“I said horrible things to him.” An understanding settled over Hal as he listened to Noire’s smile voice. They’d had an argument before Barry went missing, no doubt they’d both said things they hadn’t really meant – that’s just how people fought. “I didn’t…I didn’t _mean_ to.”

“I know kid.” It wasn’t just empty words Hal was dishing out to Noire, he really did understand. Barry might have taken to the pedantic father roll more quickly than anyone could anticipate – but Noire had gotten attached to Barry even faster than that. Hal always knew, with no doubt in his mind, that to Noire – Barry was the single most important person in the world. Perhaps rivaled only by his own brother.

It was surprisingly easy to fall into a comforting tone with the boy. Hal lifted on hand to smooth back Noire’s hair and even though the kid would probably deny ever turning to Hal for comfort, he hugged tighter to the Lantern’s body.

Despite all of Noire’s bitterness – Hal didn’t dislike him and seeing any kid on the verge of tears was unacceptable. Hal just wished that Noire would eventually ease off on his aversion towards him one day in return.

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you – I swear I will.” Ah – there was the response Hal knew best from the kid. Noire muttered even as he pressed his face into the warmth of Hal’s shirt. 

“I believe you.” Hal mused, teasing Noire a little bit but not daring to push him too far with how terrified he currently was.

Hal glanced back towards Lacie’s tombstone and couldn’t decide if he felt judged by it or not. Here he was comforting her son and he still felt like he was doing inadequately – perhaps Hal thought Laice expected too much of him.

“Why did you come back here?” Hal asked after a moment of quiet consideration. “When you couldn’t get in the house – why did you come here?”

“Didn’t know where else to go. I wanted to see her.” Noire’s mumble was muffled almost to the point of being inaudible but Hal caught the thickness in his voice. Noire really was still such a brat – so easy to get him to cry. Unwilling to drag a sniffling child anywhere, Hal resigned himself to simply soothing Noire until he was ready to go.

It was such a childish thing to do. Even now Noire ran to his mother when he was scared or hurting. 

“I know kiddo.” Murmuring the comforting words to Noire, Hal squeezed the younger man’s shoulders gently. _I miss her too,_ was on the tip of his tongue but that was a story for when Noire was older. When they were both ready to hear it.

 

 

…  
…

 

Barry was pretty sure he was sleeping. Fairly sure that he must still be out cold after that tumble from the window – but despite knowing this the rest of his dreaming self was adamant that this was very real. Caught between the two Barry had little hope of coming to a conclusion or waking up any time soon, and so he just continued to dream. His dreams consisting of memories, only making it harder to distinguish between being awake and asleep.

“Noire what are you doing down there?” It was a sweltering hot Summer day the first time Barry found Noire laying flat against the grass of their front yard – eyes fixed on the sun hanging lazily overhead.

In truth Barry had been worried Noire’s eyes might be burning – the kid hardly ate, didn’t sleep much and generally didn’t require the same treatment as a human but even his eyes had to hurt a bit looking at the sun, right?

“Do you think that the moon is lonely?” Noire was still so small back then, he’d only just gotten use to Barry being around and it was still very testy waters they’d been treading. In those early days Barry had been thrilled whenever Noire would speak with him, even if it was only about menial things like the weather – but occasionally he would throw out something odd like this.

Despite the question being unexpected, it was not unusual in the slightest. Noire was at that age – physically at least – where he would begin to wonder about those strange little things. This wasn’t even a question that Barry had never heard before, it seemed like at one point or another every child wondered if the moon felt like it got the short end of the deal with it’s and the sun’s set up.

In some ways it made perfect sense. Night was a time associated with the darker feelings, things like fear and loneliness were common in the dark of the night. While the sun was associated with warmth and light – all the positive things of the day to come. Games to play, friends to meet – a childhood to have.

“Not at all.” Barry answered easily, plonking himself down on the grass next to his mildly surprised looking ward. 

Occasionally Barry had to fight to keep up the appearance of a confident, self-assured adult. When he was a child adults always seemed to speak with this certainty that he now found similarly in the way Bats spoke – Barry was nervous that he wouldn’t pull it off like the adults of his childhood had. As much as their confidence had frustrated him from time to time, there was comfort in it. Knowing that at least someone had the answers or could find them if Barry didn’t. It did not come as naturally as he’d expected it would now that he was the adult – but Noire didn’t seem to notice in the slightest.

“How can you be so sure?” His eyes had been so large when he looked at Barry on that day. A child looking to an adult they trusted for some sort of worldly wisdom. Barry could have told Noire he knew the moon personally and there was every chance the kid would believe him. The thought brought about a swell of amusement in Barry’s chest and he felt his face warm into a smile. It was tempting but he didn’t dare pull the kid’s leg that much – not to yet anyway.

“Because the moon has the sun.” Barry told Noire happily. “How could it lonely?”

“But…the moon never gets to see the sun.” Noire replied sullenly, lifting his hand high above his head to stretch out his fingers like he could touch the sun. But his fingers were just too short and the planet too far away – Noire seemed discouraged by the distance. “The moon can’t touch the sun, it can’t reach it. Even if it could – no one likes the moon like they do the sun. I’m sure it must be lonely.”

“Noire, do you know how we see the moon?” His tone softened when speaking to Noire. Barry wasn’t an idiot, he knew that Noire was feeling some sort of relation to the moon. Perhaps he thought of his brother who he could not longer see, someone he felt so terribly separated from. Regardless of how innocent and stupid a conversation his seemed – Barry refused to make light of Noire’s feelings.

“It glows.” He answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Barry couldn’t stifle his little laugh. Noire tossed him a dirty look, angry that he was being laughed at when he was so sure that he was right about the moon.

“Well not quite.” He tried to apologize with his tone and eyes alone. “The sun gives light to the moon for it to reflect back onto Earth. That’s like they’re touching right?” A ridiculously dumbed down version of the truth behind how their planet worked but still a bit closer than Noire’s glowing theory. 

“It gives the moon light?” The unadulterated awe in Noire’s voice had warmed Barry’s heart and even though he wished Noire wouldn’t look at the sun quite so closely – the admiration behind his stare kept Barry from chiding him.

He had thought he did a good job that day.

Even though Noire didn’t quite look like he accepted that explanation, he’d smiled at Barry – and damn him Barry couldn’t help but smile back. Noire had never really been a proper child, even when comparing him to the more emotionally stunted Bat boys – Noire did have an uncanny feel to him. Barry would never say it frightened him but sometimes when Noire stared at him, unblinking with those large red orbs stuck right in the middle of his face – Barry felt a small chill.

It was stupid to feel guilty for it but it was equally ridiculous to have that slight unease in the first place. In a way it felt like he was failing Noire, because rather than offering him all the love in the world without an reservations, Barry did pull back sometimes. He never meant to but there were moments when Noire’s eyes didn’t remind Barry of the cranky little kid he raised and instead struck him deep down to his core, pulling up memories of a very different set of red eyes that had monitored him through ever moment of his childhood.

The feeling was always fleeting, quickly chased away by a smile or some sort of flicker of affection in Noire’s gaze – but some nights the chill remained. Noire’s eyes were so big, full of questions and childish thoughts – to Barry they looked almost as innocent as Wally’s had when he was that small. He clung onto that notion; it helped to fight away the similarities between Noire’s eyes and the red tinted gaze of the yellow speedster that haunted his head.

“The moon must love the sun.” Noire had said later that night, when he thought Barry was too busy with the dishes – dishes that he probably could have saved a cleaning if he let Noire refuse to eat again – to notice his murmurings. 

He’d returned to his usual quiet self as the day progressed, so hearing him speak had actually startled Barry and it took a few seconds to realize the boy wasn’t addressing him at all. He was huddled up against the open window – a steaming cup of hot chocolate in his hands and a blanket wrapped around every inch of himself that Noire could manage to cover. 

“The moon is so dark and cold, but the sun is all bright and shinny – it sorta hurts to look at.”

 _I knew it._ Barry wanted to sigh but opted instead to just remain silent and scold Noire if he tried looking at the sun again.

“But I really like the sun. I honestly do.” Noire continued hastily like he wanted to reassure the invisible presence he spoke to that he did not dislike the sun – even if it burned. “You never did tell us about the sun and moon. I know you would have – eventually. We needed more time…”

Concern gradually began to crawl up Barry’s spine. He knew Noire was talking to his deceased mother and he wasn’t sure if it was the healthy progression for a child after the loss of a parent. When his mother had died Barry had been so caught up in rage and grief – blinded by guilt and the fear that the person behind her murder would come back for him eventually to really try that method of grieving. It wasn't until he was much older at his mother’s tomb that he’d sometimes talk to her without any real belief she’d say anything back. 

Briefly the thought of therapy crossed Barry’s mind but remembering his own horrendous experience with that sort of help, Barry quickly tossed the idea aside with perhaps just a bit too much bitterness in the decision. Noire would grow out of the habit he was sure, and even if he didn’t it wasn’t a problem unless he thought his mother might really talk back. That would trump Barry’s aversion to therapy.

“You know, I thought the moon might hate the sun. Hate that it was so bright and happy while it was so gloomy. I thought I might…maybe.” There was a pause and Barry didn’t realize he’d stopped washing until the silence caused his hands to abruptly jerk back into motion. The ensuing clatter and splash of a plate seemed to be what Noire was waiting for – he’d been listening to make sure Barry was still busy.

Why did that bother Barry so much? 

This was like a pray, it was private so obviously Noire didn’t want Barry to hear. Even as he told himself that was all there was to it, that familiar chill had returned. In an effort not to tip Noire off to his eavesdropping again, Barry kept on washing the plates and cutlery – maybe a tad too loudly. It made listening difficult but Barry was positive he heard what Noire said next. 

“I think that the moon would want to own the sun.” 

The chill penetrated Barry’s very bones – lingering long after the plates were dry and stacked away and this time when Noire smiled at him – it did not chase away the biting cold in the pit of Barry’s stomach.

“Something wrong Barry?”

Noire asked him when he’d accidentally found himself blindsided by Noire’s eyes as he entered the living room. They didn’t glow, he’d never known Noire’s eyes to do anything strange like that. But in the dimly lit living room, with his back to the window with the glow of the moon filing in around his frame, Noire’s eyes seemed to shine – catching Barry and holding him in place as an unfamiliar spike of dread rushed up the length of his spine.

Because this time, just for the few seconds when Noire had him pinned without any intention of doing so with a simple glance – Barry didn’t see Noire at all. He couldn’t find the innocence he loved to see in Wally’s eyes and could find in Noire’s when he searched for it. Instead Barry was faced with a very different gaze, but no less familiar.

When he looked at the Reverse Flash these eyes were the ones he saw. Perhaps they lacked the violent loathing Reverse held onto and they were nowhere near as mirthless – but there was something in there that Barry recognized. Noire didn’t hate him like the yellow speedster did, but there was something ravenous in his eyes that was the same.

“You look pale.” Noire continued gently, his voice rarely rising above a subdued, soft volume. Usually it made Barry think he was shy or unsure – right now it only unsettled him further. “Should I call Batman for you? You called him for me once when you poisoned me.” 

“P-Poisoned?” Barry sputtered, mortified by the word even though he knew Noire hadn’t meant it quite like that. He had poisoned Noire _unintentionally_ the first time he cooked for him – he just hadn’t paid enough attention to how well the food was cooked. It was an accidently – everyone knew that. Forcing himself to laugh, Barry rubbed the back of his neck, hoping he might be able to flatten the hairs down. “Well you cooked tonight, right? So it’s all safe.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t poison you.” And he smiled just a little bit, so sugar sweet that it was beginning to rot.

“I promise.”

He didn’t realize he’d taken a step back from Noire until the boy took a step forward. He wasn’t looking so small anymore, not the boy he’d been talking to out on the lawn earlier that day. He was the Noire he’d been fighting with before the doll house.

“Barry.” Noire’s voice wasn’t questioning anymore and Barry backed up further.

He knew it, deep in his gut, that this wasn’t real. A distorted memory maybe, but this had never happened. Noire would _never_. Barry’s head was clearing fast, breaking away from whatever little illusion he’d been trapped in. This wasn’t real and it wasn’t even close to as convincing as the doll house was. Now that he focused the world seemed to grow fuzzy at the sides, anything he wasn’t directly looking at losing all detail. Eventually the only thing that still appeared solid was Noire.

“ _Barry_.” Noire tried again, voice sounding a little more strained and desperate as he reached out with one hand towards Barry. It was just some sort of dream he was in, it wasn’t real and the more Barry focused on that single little thought the more the dream began to break away at the edges. Fizzling out until it began to fade and become transparent against the light of the waking world.

The next time he heard his name it didn’t come from Noire and it wasn’t a dream. 

“Allen.”

And finally he was free, pulled from the murky dreamlike state by a familiar growl calling his name. 

Barry wished he had woken with a start rather than the bleary-eyed, stiff start he got. Groaning low in his dry throat, Barry reached for his head when the sharp aching of his skull fully hit him. The rest of his aches and pains took longer to appear, his joints and back screaming a particularly loud protest as his mind began to reboot.

“You were talking in your sleep.” Barry released a second groan, this one directed at Batman when he heard the man talking to him. Of course he’d still be with the replica Bat. He hadn’t found a riddle of completed a challenge so there was no hope of proceeding. Throwing himself out a window wasn’t what CM was looking for but the man no doubt had a giggle at his expense. 

The echo of keys being punched down rapidly and the occasionally thrum or beep from monitors was the only other sound that reached Barry. He knew without looking around that he’d be in the Batcave, or at least a variation of it. It was almost comforting to wake up on the metal slab that Bats used as a medical bed and the usual echo of computers through the cave was a welcome relief. 

“What were you dreaming about?” He didn’t even ask Barry if he’d been dreaming, the Bat knew and Barry wondered if it was because when he had nightmares he spoke out loud as well.

“A memory.” Barry answered slowly, his voice dry and scratchy to match how beaten the rest of him was currently feeling.

“I figured as much.” Not really listening to the man’s steady voice drone on, Barry rest his head back against the flat of the metal table. His body was chiding him for throwing himself out a window like an idiot and all he could do was try to close his eyes and wait it out. Eventually his muscles would forgive him enough to function again.

“ _No_.” Barry was up again in a violent jolt as Batman slammed his hand down on the table next to his head. The loud bang resounded through the cave and painfully echoed in Barry’s still aching head – it was a better wake up call than any alarm clock he’d ever owned.

“Don’t sleep.” Batman continued, ignoring the small heart attack he’d just caused Barry to have. “If you sleep, you’ll dream. Just like everything else here – he has a way to see into them and he’ll twist them. Best not to let him get inside your head. There’s every chance he’ll be able to rework your own memories. You wouldn’t even know the difference – they become fact.” 

“How…” Barry gulped down a much needed breath of air, ignoring how his ribs protested to the expanding of his lungs. “How long have you been here?” 

Now that there was little hope of him actually being able to rest, Barry was able to twist his neck enough to see the Bat. The angle was a little disorientating, but even in the dark of the cave he could make out Batman’s outline as he returned to the glow of his monitors. Even though he must have known they were just as fake as the rest of this world, he must have taken some sort of comfort in their familiarity. When his question registered with the man Barry noticed how his shoulders abruptly tensed then just as quickly fell slack.

He looked exhausted, a look he had not often seen on Batman. Barry knew before he even asked that the answer was ‘too long’, but he had to speak the question out loud. He struggled to imagine how many memories Batman had been forced to watch become nightmares before he’d decided sleep was strictly off limits. His memories were not so kind to begin with. 

“Time moves differently in this world and the outside world.” The man answered slowly, laying his hands down flat on the keyboard without actually going to type anything.

“How do you figure?” It was a diversion from Barry’s real question, but he dared not try to pry the answer out of him.

“Because by now your friends would have come for you if the flow of time matched the real world.” Batman turned to glance at him, as usual the small motion held a greater meaning and Barry caught it faster than Batman probably expected him to.  
“You believe me?” Barry asked slowly, not believing his own ears. “You believe I’m real?”

“Real enough for now.” Not the most comforting answer but the best Barry was going to get. Barry couldn’t fight off the smile despite his efforts and his genuinely delighted expression seemed to satisfy Batman for the time being. “I do not believe either of us to be fake.”

Barry wanted to tell batman that he was probably wrong but he couldn’t bring himself to do so after Bruce had made an allowance for him and believed that Barry was real. His doubt must have shone through however, because Batman gave a frustrated sigh and explained a bit further.

“You were familiar with the concept of the multiverse, my theory is simply – we are both real and belong to separate universes.” Listening to Batman talk like this was definitely reassuring. It did still remind Barry of being spoken to like a child but the sheer familiarity of his delivery kept the speedster from feeling humiliated.

“Why would CM grab someone from another universe? Can he do that?” 

“No. That is not within his abilities.” Batman answered slowly, pulling something up on his computer monitor. Barry recognized it as notes, Batman usually had whole files dedicated to single villains – this must have been the Crooked Man’s. In comparison to other villains they’d dealt with there was a limited amount of information – probably due to the man’s death. 

“The theory I’ve cultivated states that this realm exists outside of any single universe – a shared pocket dimension. Following that logic, the Crooked Man from your world and the one from mine would use the same--”

“Doll house.” Barry supplied dryly. His contribution got a curious look from Batman and Barry could just see the man raising a brow at him under the cowl. In response Barry gave a careless shrug. “The name fits.”

Without lingering on the implications of the name, Batman turned back towards his computers and flew into his detective, boss mode. Barry was getting a briefing and he was probably fighting off a concussion – he wished Bats would slow down for just a second.

“—doll house.” Batman relented. “As such it’s entirely possible that we’re both completely real and the chosen players of our world’s respective Crooked Men.”

“You said before that messing with the multiverse isn’t something he can do – what else do you know? Because from what Batman – my Batman – told us, he was a completely normal human before he died. Well…normal in the sense that he didn’t have the ability to make friggin pocket dimensions.”

“He was, at least before his death. This Crooked Man is not the one from back then – the same body maybe but hardly the same man.”

“From what information I have gathered the Crooked Man has in some way been able to gather info on our lives. At first I thought he might have monitored us individually but he has insight to things he would not have gained from monitoring either of us. However that could just be a well formed lie – there is every chance the scenarios and people we’ve encountered have falsified memories with incorrect facts. That said their intel is…unsettling.”

Without interrupting Batman, Barry began to drag himself upright. Occasionally a his of pain or grunt slipped past his efforts to remain quiet but Batman didn’t stop if he heard them.

“Ruling out the possibility of the Crooked Man having scoured through our collective memories, we have no choice but to accept the worlds he places before us as fact until we find all his riddles. From my experience he always places the riddle and often the answer with the person he chooses to replicate. So here is my question; what were you doing at the children’s home?”

“Bats.” Flash gave a long suffering groan, resisting the urge to shout in frustration. “We’ve already been over this. I didn’t--” 

“ _Barry_.” The man’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting Barry off before he could begin to vent. “I’m not asking you why you wanted to be there, I am asking you why _he_ put you there. Multiverse or not, the Crooked Man decides where we end up and why. What connection did that place have to you? I know for a fact you never…my Flash never set foot in that building. _Think_ Barry.”

Tired and wrung out to very nearly his limits, Barry took a moment to just breath and try to think. It was more difficult than he’d expected, his mind wasn’t so much full as it was empty. The distant buzz and need to drive on forward were the only constants inside his skull until he forced himself to pursue more elaborate thoughts.

At first he could only think of the memory that he’d dreamed of. It made him flinch thinking about it but Batman’s explanation told him that it wasn’t really how that memory went. He was sure he told Noire about the moon, positive the boy spoke to his mother – but had the other stuff, the less innocent parts - been real? Trying not to dwell on it, Barry pushed further, looking into what he knew about CM and the children’s hospital. He remembered Len, thought about what he knew about CM from the news article and fragments he’d gathered.

“I…thought it was where he grew up.” Barry admitted, already knowing he was wrong according to his Batman. “I thought maybe I could find the thing that sent him down this path – find what had made him this way.”

An acknowledging grunt from the Bat was all he got as a prompt to continue but from the corner of his eye Barry saw the man typing, maybe typing down what Barry was saying. “We found a news article about the children’s hospital in the last room – he left it for us to find so I thought he was trying to tell me something.” 

“You were looking in the wrong place.” Batman smoothly cut in. “The article involved the home, yes. But the thing you should have focused on was the owners.”

“The grinchy looking couple?” He was too tired to soften his comment, not that Bats cared. “You said you bought it off them.” 

“I did.” It was subtle but Barry cause the hesitant note to Bat’s tone. “I said a lot of things back there.”

“Yeah.” Barry’s eyes narrowed on the man. “Yeah, you _did_ Bats.” 

To the man’s credit he hardly even blinked at Barry’s increasingly furious tone. Instead Batman kept at his computer, ignoring the hostile glare he was getting from his guest. 

“Our timelines are not the same – you can hardly expect me to--”

“You basically told me to let my friends die in my place, or did you forget that little detail?” He obviously hadn’t just by looking at the way his tensed at Barry’s accusation. “Should have let Noire die – that’s what you were getting at back there right? Where do you get off telling me I didn’t know the kid I raised and then telling me to leave him for dead?” 

“You _don’t_ know the child you raised – you barely raised him at all Flash.” 

“Maybe in your universe, but back home I--”

“What’s it been? A year, two?” Barry wanted to snap something back at the infuriatingly level headed man but he had nothing to respond with, technically he had only been looking after Noire for a few months. His silence was telling and Batman’s dry laugh was what he got for his transparency. “Not even that then?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re a god damn expert on the matter. Like everything else.” It was a weak rebuttal but it was also all Barry currently had. In an effort to not appear weak while they argued, Barry hoisted himself up onto his feet and off the metal table. Only to stumble when his body declared itself not yet ready to take on the task of carrying its own weight.

He was hardly surprised when Bats caught his weight with one hand steadying him by his shoulder. It was obvious he would fall without the small assistance, but Barry tried to shrug him off all the same. But as always, if Batman didn’t want to let go there was very little Barry could do to convince the man otherwise. The little spill had only agitated his throbbing skull and Barry had managed to just make himself look more ridiculous in front of this version of his friend.

“You’re angry.” Batman told him flatly, using that patronizing tone that Barry was positive he wasn’t even aware of. “But now is not the time to fight – we both need the same thing so put your childish anger on hold for a little longer. Fight it out with your Batman when you have the luxury of time to waste.”

“No point.” Barry growled back. “My Bat would never say that shit. He’d never keep stuff like that from me. From the team.”

“Is that so?” There was an undeniable note of grim amusement to that question and Barry could do little more than scowl at the man that steadied him. 

Batman gaze him a quick appraising look before making a small amused sound at the back of his throat. The man then gradually let Barry hold his own weight, allowing him to rest back against the side of the table in order to stand. 

“Lacie Harlow.” The name caused Barry to look back up at the man questioningly. Batman only gave him a side-glance in return. “You never met her in your timeline. She died before you had the chance, correct?”

“Yes.” Barry slowly admitted, not liking the tone Bats was using. It felt less like a lecture and more like a confession. Briefly Barry remembered some of the man’s more feverish ramblings when they were at the children’s hospital. “But you did know her?”

“I did, he did. _Your_ Batman. Our timelines appear to be all but identical up until the point of your death. I’d estimate in your time line you’d have been dead for five months already if our timelines had not diverged. For us it’s been well over two years. This means that I can – with a considerable level of certainty – speak on behalf for your Batman up until five months ago.”

Barry wanted to ask why he would. If he and Bruce shared the same history until the point where their individual universes split into different directions – one with a living Barry and one without – why would this Batman want to tell him his counterpart’s secrets? Perhaps it was confession, something he had to get off his chest – but that didn’t fit the Batman Barry knew. 

No, this was strategic. Barry just hadn’t figured out how yet.

“When I met Lacie, the creatures you know as Black and White did not yet exist. They were still just a thought, an intention – the idea some small girl had made up in her head. I did not meet her as Batman – I was Bruce Wayne at the time.” A sigh. “I had approached her because I suspected she wasn’t human, thought she might pose a threat or become an ally. She was neither in the end – just wanted to live in that little home with the other children and play human until her time was up on Earth.”

Bruce was toying with the edge of his cowl, and Barry wondered if he was considering removing it. He’d said he did this as Bruce Wayne and not Batman, it was possible that wearing the cowl while reliving these memories felt wrong to the man – like a lie. Regardless he did not take off his Batman persona as he spoke, only his voice gave away it was the man talking rather than the Bat.

“She got one year, a solid year before she was dead and those two boys were left on a planet they didn’t belong to. They were dangerous, I saw that. They had the potential for great evil – in light of that I thought it best to monitor them. Of course Alois was always slippery, vanished for a few months before I found him again and he was exactly as I feared he’d be. Noire was easier – I had hoped by sending him to live with you, with Barry – he’d grow up normally.” 

He paused now, fingers falling deliberately away from his cowl as he looked at Barry properly. “For a while it worked. I kept an eye on the two, made sure you didn’t accidentally poison him again.”

“I keep telling you people I didn’t _poison_ him.” Barry lamented in frustration. It was only the slight upward twitch of Bruce’s mouth that told Barry he’d even been heard. 

“But then you died.”

Abruptly Barry had new questions. He had died in their world, that meant Noire really hadn’t been raised by him. Their Barry never got the chance. Those questions hadn’t sprung into his mind the first time Bats told him his that version of him had died – he’d been too preoccupied thinking about the Justice Lords to even consider what had happened to Noire. Batman easily continued on, not needing to be prompted to elaborate. 

“Noire was shattered. The League broke down into the Justice Lords – we were all affected by what happened to the Flash. Noire was still just a boy, not yet fully in his teenaged body – and so I did the only logical thing, and took him in.”

“ _You_?” It was probably insulting how shocked Barry sounded with one simple word.

“Yes.” Flat, unapologetic. “The only other possibility besides myself was Jordan and that would never have worked out. They were both reckless and irresponsible – not to mention their distaste for one another would have made it a nightmare. Only I knew Noire’s history, I had the connection to him and so he became my responsibility. When he joined the Justice Lords, I--” 

“You let him join the _Lords_?” There was that insulting tone again. 

“I assume you have not let him join your League then?” He stated it like a fact. “I imagine that my counterpart would not be keen on the idea, no more than I was. It was not my idea, I wanted the boy as far away from the team as possible – but Superman insisted he be an asset. At that point no one questioned Superman, so of course it happened.” 

“What did you do to him?”

Batman stopped, looking at Barry again and registering the grim expression on the man’s face. Barry had never asked about Noire when he’d demanded to know what happened to the Justice Lords because…well he didn’t expect the boy to be there. But if he had been that meant he would have been guilty like the rest of them. Unless… 

“Did…did he help you? I mean, you said you took him in after I died – thanks for that by the way – so he _must_ have helped you.” Batman said nothing and Barry’s chest tightened painfully. “Come on Bats, why you being so tight lipped all of a sudden?” 

“I would advise you not let your Noire into the league. As a favour to me, remember that.” Final.

“You…you can’t be serious.”

Batman didn’t look at him anymore and instead began to gather up his belt and gadgets from the table next to the batcomputer.

“Hey! Bats don’t just ignore me here.” Barry demanded, his headache reminding him to use his inside voice until it was ready to subside.

Frustratingly he was ignored while Batman readied himself to leave. Barry still felt sick as a dog but staying here would do him no good – they had to find that riddle and get out. 

“Where are you going?” Barry asked dryly when Bruce strode past him. 

“ _We_ are going back to the children’s home.” Batman clarified. “The riddle is there.”

“We already checked there.” The currently speedless, speedster protested tiredly. “It wasn’t there.”

“The riddle is in motion. One of the Crooked Man’s fakes is carrying it. Find the fake, find the riddle – it’ll be at the children’s home." 

“How can you be so damn sure?” Batman opened his mouth to answer and Barry’s hand shot up to silence him. “Never mind, never mind. You’re Batman – of course you know. Other universe or whatever – but still Batman.”

The stare he got was as blank as Batman could make it and then without a word he turned away from Barry and began to walk again. The silent order to follow eventually got Barry to fight through his migraine and series of sore joints to follow after the other universe version of his friend.

He’d gotten too many things he needed to talk about with his own Bruce now. Starting with trust issues – he would need to give Batman a lecture of his own about the importance of trusting his friends. There was every chance this Batman was not at all like his in the fine details but Barry struggled to buy that. They were too similar, this Batman did and said things that didn’t sit well with Barry – but that could all be chalked up to the tragedy of what happened in his universe. 

Still Barry didn’t think his Batman could be so ready to give up on his teammates. To be so dismissive of friends like Noire and Clark…

“I did go by the way.”

The sudden comment from Batman took Barry off guard, but the Dark Knight hadn’t even halted in his stride through the batcave. It took Barry a moment to get his legs to keep moving after the older man.

“Did what?” Barry grumbled back at Batman, voice coming out a little too sharply at he prodded his aching head. Again batman didn’t so much as slow down when he spoke to Flash.

“Visit him.” 

Even the fine details were all coming up Batman.  
Just great.


	9. In A Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have a thing.  
> I apologize for this thing. It got out of hand.  
> The next thing will be better – I hope.

Begrudgingly Flash had to admit that Batman was right.  
Not like there had ever been any doubt.

The trudge back to the children’s hospital had been purposefully silent and Barry noticed that the streets were void of life. In a sense this was like padding between locations and Barry almost laughed out loud when he realized they were essentially on this world’s loading screen.

Nothing so much as twitched as they marched through the streets of Gotham. There wasn’t a single passerby, not one backstreet mugging or stray cat to screech at them as they walked. The world was completely and utterly void of life. The Crooked Man did not fill up the empty spaced with fakes, if it was a lack of care or ability Barry couldn’t say.

Batman had become very quiet as they trekked through his city. To him it must have been even more uncanny, knowing a place so intimately only to have the very soul of it gouged out, leaving behind the lifeless replica they walked through. Barry thought about trying to strike up conversation, maybe bug the man a bit just to unload some tension but thinking about what Batman might say – Barry through better of it.

The man walking ahead of him lived a life where he turned his back on his friends, had raised the boy Barry was suppose to look after and lost a dear friend. Barry wasn’t entirely sure how to approach he man, worried if he was too forward Batman would snarl and snap like an injured creature. He wanted to reassure the man – no – to _convince_ the man that his world wouldn’t turn out like theirs had.

But the solid set of his shoulders and finality of tone told Barry there was little hope of that. 

It almost felt like this Batman hated him. But then again...his Batman sometimes felt like that as well - the Bats just didn't like people much. Some things apparently don't change over worlds.

By the time they reached the familiar boarded up building, Barry had almost run out of ideas for this Batman. If he’d been all bad it wouldn’t be so hard but there was still so much of Bruce in him. He still believed in justice, still cared for his allies even after they’d turned their back on everything they had once fought for as a team.

Still visited an angry man in a kryptonite-coated cage. 

Barry never asked what he did when he went to see Superman. Didn’t ask if they spoke, if they were still friendly towards one another. He didn’t ask, but he imagined all the same. Wondering if Superman was still kind and just a little bit dorky, wondered if he still looked at Bruce and smiled with the light of the sun or if he scowled instead.

Was Superman so changed in the Justice Lord’s reality that he’d truly kill one of their own – a friend? Barry decided he didn’t want confirmation and so he did not ask.

He had been so deep in thought that when Batman abruptly and silently came to a halt Barry almost bumped into him. Walking had become automatic after enough time and while his body was beginning to shake of his aches and pains – the sudden stop brought a familiar aching back in his legs. He had fallen from a window – it was a miracle that he’d been able to come away as good as he did. A greater miracle was the fact Batman hadn’t insisted on bed rest. He might have if the situation had been different. 

“Uh...Bats?” Barry spoke up when he noticed Batman just staring at the building, not moving to enter. “We going in or…?”

“Stay close.” Was all the answer Barry got and then like he’d never stopped in the first place, Batman was entering the building without so much as a glance over his shoulder. 

Barry moved to follow but briefly his eyes flicked up to where Batman had been staring. He’d been looking up at the roof, in the exact space Barry’s delirious mind had told him someone was watching him when he fell from the window. Knowing that a small shudder went down Barry’s spine, perhaps he hadn’t been quite so delirious with pain as he’d first thought.

Following Bats inside quietly Barry didn’t stop to look around this time and instead stuck close to the man’s flank. No doubt they’d both done a thorough search of the place the first time they’d been here and they’d both come up empty handed, but Batman seemed to be walking with a renewed purpose. Barry recognized this as one of those times where some sort of new understanding had fallen into the man’s lap and he was chasing after it without hesitation. He’d later claim it was obvious, a clue they should have seen earlier but had somehow missed because they’d done something wrong. Been too hasty, looked in the wrong places – all sorts of rookie mistakes he’d be sure to train out of them later.  
Except for this Batman there’d be no later, no training with a team he no longer had. Barry would have to suffice for now.

Batman took them up to the second floor and then up to the third, bypassing all the children’s rooms, play areas and kitchen area. He instead took them up to the furthermost room, which seemed to be a mix of an office and lounge area when Barry checked it. The set up eventually made sense to Barry, it was where people could come and talk to one of the children. Maybe they funded them for charity or were looking to adopt one of the younger kids. The older children had a hope of going into foster care but adoption became harder with each year they stayed in the home.

Barry hadn’t found much of interest in the room when he checked it. The filing cabinets had been emptied and the desk only had a few dust bunnies and forgotten mints in the draws. However when Batman silently pushed the door open this time, the room was not quite so empty. There was a body in it.

For a brief, chilling moment Barry thought it would be a corpse, something CM set up for them to find as some sick joke, but slowly he realized the body was very much alive.

Sitting quietly on one of the lounges, the one that faced the doorway the two heroes were currently standing in, there was a young girl. She was white as a sheet, even her hair and eyes seemed sapped of colour – having lead Barry to believe she was a ghost or body at first, but when the sound of the old door creaking open alerted her to their presence, the translucent girl looked up with a ready smile. 

The expression was so bright and warm, like the smile someone would wear when finally meeting with a long lost friend once again. Despite himself Barry felt nervous in front of the girl’s beaming expression, it was disarming to see such a genuinely kind look cast his way after his other experiences in the Doll House. The girl wasn’t surprised to see them and judging by the cup she was holding in her fragile hands – she’d been waiting for some time.

Taken off guard Barry could only stand there dumbly staring into the room. Batman had no such difficulties and glided easily into the room, walking calmly over to the set of lounges the girl was sitting at. Barry could hardly believe his eyes when the Bat sat down opposite the girl as casually as he might have set himself down at a Justice League meeting.

“Please.” He did not jump when the girl’s quiet voice spoke up. Honestly he didn’t. “Sit.”

His eyes followed her tiny hand as the stranger gestured to the seat between the two lounges. Batman had sat in the middle of the lounge and Barry tried not to be insulted by the idea that the man wasn’t willing to share.

When Barry didn’t immediately move the girl smiled gently, as if deciding she didn’t want to push him into anything. Realizing he was still just _standing_ there, Barry jumped to join the pair at the coffee table – still without the slightest clue as to what was going on.

As he eased himself down into the chair between the two, Barry noticed the tea set the girl had put on the table. He assumed she put it there because it most certainly had not been in the room last time he was in it. He expected to see some tea in the cups or at least in the teapot but when Barry looked at the delicate set he realized with a small shiver that not only was it empty, there was cobwebs and dust piling up in the individual cups.

Barry glanced wearily at the cup in the girl’s hands and decided he didn’t want to know what was in hers.

“You’re in your suit.” Again the girl’s sudden speaking alarmed Barry. She spoke so quietly, almost a whisper but it was a gentle voice and Barry found himself wondering why CM would make a fake like her.

Briefly he thought of Len and the game that involved him having to die. Barry did not want this brittle little thing to be another fake CM wanted to see break. Even if they weren’t real, Barry didn’t think he could stand to see a child die. Especially not with a smile like that.

“Bruce.” The girl continued, tone almost chiding. “Must you really be the Batman right now? I assure you, you won’t need it. I knew you as Bruce after all.” 

“Sorry, sorry – I gotta cut in real quick.” The glare Batman gave him when Barry decided he absolutely had to speak was scathing. But he continued, ignoring the frustrated Bat. The girl looked at him as well but she didn’t seem to have much of an expression at all. “Sorry, hi, I’m Barry – we haven’t met?”

Perhaps he was being a little too rude, a little too forward – but they’d just sat down for a dust tea party without so much as a hello, how do you do. Barry didn’t recognize the girl – so she must have been a fake from the other Batman’s reality, but if that was the case then he was wasting precious time here. 

“I know who you are Barry Allen.” The girl smiled with a quiet chuckle, the sound impossibly more fragile then the rest of her. “Crooked Man does not think too highly of you, but from what I’ve gathered you’ve done wonders for my dear boy.”

“Your dear boy…?” If she meant Batman, Barry was going to either have a heart attack or laughing fit. 

“Flash.” Batman said curtly, tossing him another hard stare from under his cowl. “This is Lacie.”

Just like that it fit, clicked into place. The children’s home had been Noire and Alois’s home when their mother was alive. The fake the Crooked Man had made for the children’s home was not himself nor Batman – it was the girl that lived here. He’d made a replica of a dead girl – the girl he killed. There was something just a little too nauseating about that.

Lacie’s smile was something like a secret while she looked at Barry. Very suddenly Barry felt like he was on trial, this was Noire’s mother – and he was the man who took her son in. Barry didn’t have the faintest idea how to talk to this girl. 

“I am not really her.” Lacie mused wistfully. Perhaps having guessed Barry’s thoughts when she saw the panic on his face. “I am well aware that I am dead, this existence is just something like a memory. But perhaps even it will be of use to the pair of you.”

“You have the riddle.” It was not a question when Batman spoke and while his stare was still intimidating, Lacie did not seem perturbed.

“I do. The Crooked Man can scarcely keep secrets from me. Would you both like to hear it?” She asked, looking between them as if they really might refuse. Satisfied that their silence was approval to continued, Lacie gave a small happy sigh and set her cup down in her lap. Then as if she was reciting a song from memory, Lacie’s white eyes slid shut and she murmured the riddle out loud. 

“ _Each morning I appear to lie at your feet, All day I will follow no matter how fast you run, Yet I nearly perish in the midday sun. Who am I?”_

Opening her eyes again Lacie peered at the two of them before beaming a small delighted smile. “It’s one of his gentler riddles, I much prefer this one.”

“You’re not like any of the fakes I’ve seen before.” Barry blurted before he could help himself. The girl seemed so ghostly, like she would break if he so much as touched her. All the other’s had felt solid, grounded in reality but Lacie didn’t feel like she didn’t exist anywhere at all.

“I am not one of his. At least not one he desired to make. I am nothing more than a lingering thought in his head, something haunting him. As such he will not venture close while I am near. It’s strange – I think he might actually be afraid of me.”

“Afraid?” Barry repeated curiously. It felt silly to still be wondering about his captor but Barry couldn’t seem to help himself. Lacie’s eyes sparkled at the question but her expression remained fairly grim.

“Guilt and regret can be a powerful thing. Even the Crooked Man feels them.” Lacie answered with a small lift of her shoulders. “His memory is in tatters but there are some things that even his ruined mind cannot fully block out. I am just one of them. I’d like to think of myself as some shred of humanity left in him.”

Batman had been quiet after hearing the riddle and when Barry noticed he seemed to be thinking a small spark of hope shone in his eyes. Batman was likely the smartest person on the Justice League – he had Riddler as an enemy for Pete’s sake. This would be a piece of cake. The man seemed to take note of Barry’s staring and let out a small sigh. 

Not exactly a comforting response.

“You have the answer?” Lacie inquired casually and Batman nodded. “Excellent, you only need to complete the test now. Please, go ahead.”

Silence.

“Um, hey Batman – this is the part where you answer and we leave?” Barry prompted but Batman remained eerily quiet and Barry was beginning to worry he might just attack him again. That seemed to happen a fair bit when Batman fell silent.

“Bruce…” Lacie sighed wearily. “It’s okay, go ahead. You know I’m dead.”

“I…” The man paused, shoulders shifting uncomfortably as if he was truly struggling with something. “I just want a moment.” 

What Batman was asking for didn’t really sink in for a few seconds for Barry. But slowly he recognized the set of the man’s jaw, the familiar way he sat, leaning forward with hands clasped in front of him – like the weight of the world was on his shoulders again. The urge to get up and leave stuck him harshly, this felt too intimate – this was something important to Batman and Barry felt like an intruder. But neither he nor the…memory, told Barry to go and he dared not move - thinking it would break the fragile still that had fallen over the three of them.

Lacie did not rush Batman as he took his time, no doubt thinking over exactly what he wanted to say and what he should say. In a sense this was something like a cheap way to deal with grief. To speak to the afterimage of a dead girl he’d once known, Barry thought about Noire speaking to his mother’s gave – it was a comfort to both the Bat and boy it seemed. 

“He…grew up fast.” Batman began slowly. “They both did, just like you told me they would. We--…you have a tombstone in Gotham Cemetery, I took him to visit he still thinks about you.”

As he spoke, Bruce reached up to remove the cowl. The rest of his suit was left untouched with but his comment about being Bruce Wayne when he met Lacie still seemed important to the two of them. He wasn’t Batman when he was in front of this girl.

“Noire was a good kid, Alois was a bit more trouble.” Bruce admitted with a dry chuckle. “Neither was easy. Noire still won’t eat much, still likes to make nests up in high places. Alois went into hiding for months at a time, but even he would come out of the woodworks when something went wrong.”

For her part in all this Lacie was listening intently. Barry couldn’t imagine what it was like to hear about her own children growing up, being unable to actually see them. She’d never see them fall in love or get jobs – raise a family. None of it. But Barry would, at least he hoped so. It almost felt unfair that he was able to witness something this memory wasn’t able to.

“Crooked Man’s collective memory of my boys is…hazy.” Lacie admitted reluctantly. “Some good, some bad – but even with his ill temperament clouding the memories, I can still see you two. I want to thank you both, for protecting my boys. For keeping my secrets all this time, Bruce.”

A relief rushed over Bruce and Barry saw his tense muscles slowly relax. He realized when Bruce became quiet again that his talking about Lacie’s children had been his version of nervous rambling. That seemed to fit, even when uneasy the Bat remained composed, if it had been Barry he would have been a stuttering tangent filled mess. 

Lacie looked at Bruce with that same understanding smile and she even laughed quietly as the man opposite her calmed down. It was as if she’d given him what he’d been looking for, some indication that he had not failed to keep his promise. Barry would always admire just how seriously Bruce took his word.

“Miss?” Barry didn’t cut in quite so sharply this time and even though the girl was so small he couldn’t help but use the title with her. It felt like when he’d talk to civilians as the Flash. “I’m sorry but can I ask something? You…well you _made_ Noire and Alois – I just never really understood how…?”

“I’m only a memory, I’m afraid I can only tell you what the Crooked Man knows of me. How he came to know so much…I can’t say. His head is so cloudy.” On the opposite lounge, Batman shifted as if uncomfortable. No doubt he was sill trying to piece together just how CM had come across all this information. The possibility of him being a psychic seemed increasingly possible.

“From what he knows, I am a spectral child. Or at least I was when I was still alive. Now I’m not even that.” The cup that she hadn’t so much as taken a sip on was finally abandoned on the coffee table and Barry’s stomach turned a bit when he saw that it to had webs in it as well as the addition of an actual spider. He didn’t look long enough to decipher if it was alive or not. 

“Spectral children do not have babies like humans and other earth creatures do. When we wish to create new life we pass on the life we have. Usually a pair is required to create one new life – of course killing the two creators in the process.” Barry had a comment about how horrible that whole set up was on the tip of his tongue but Batman was giving him that look again. Even without the cowl he did have a way of freezing people with that stare.

If Lacie noticed Barry’s horror about how her people passed life onto the next generation she made no comment. “But Noire and Alois were not spectral children, I was fortunate my body survived the year it took to make them. It was unfortunate it ended the way it did. I had hoped I’d pass away quietly, something easier on the boys.”

“You were sick.” The realization didn’t hit Barry like he thought something like that would. It was more like a cold understanding settling in his stomach. “You were _dying_.”

“I was lucky.” Lacie replied flatly. “Most of us do not get to meet our creations. I had a whole year with my boys. Of course I was still worried about what would happen when I was gone. I was fortunate to meet you Mr. Wayne. I knew you’d make sure they were looked after.” 

“That’s why you sent Noire off with me?” Barry barked at Bruce, eyes wide as he stared at the silent Batman.

“We’ll need to move soon.” Batman decided, not bothering to answer Barry. He never had to explain his reasoning behind choosing the Flash to look out for the little shadow. They made sense, more so then anyone else on the league. Bruce had been worried Noire would turn out twisted and bitter – so he’d sent him to Barry. He had faith in Barry’s heart, thought it could sway the boy and help him grow into a kind person. 

Bruce could only hope that was what would happen when this Barry returned to his world. The Noire from his own world had never gotten the chance to grow up with Barry, thanks to Bruce he’d only lost another parent.

“You’re right.” Lacie agreed grimly. “Crooked Man will only sit back so long before he decides to throw some sort of twist into the game. Answer the riddle and pass into the next arena.”

“But the challenge.” Barry began uncertainly. 

“Was completed when neither of you killed one another.” Lacie clarified evenly. “I imagine he was hoping one of you would be forced to kill the other to escape or alternatively decide to stay in the delusion. I’m not so sure he wants you to win anymore. He always said he wanted to make worthy heroes for the world…but I believe this is just out of spite.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, I stole this stage from him.” The admission came with a guilty but unremorseful smile. “I wanted to meet the two of you, just one last time. I wanted to hear about my boys from you. I’m afraid that I cheated you out of one of his challenges when I brought you together.” 

“You’re responsible for the merging of the two different worlds?” Bruce confirmed in a grim way, like he’d already figured it all out before hand.

“I influenced what little I could, nothing more than that.” That was neither a denial nor confirmation and no body tried to push for a more solid answer. Some things were better left alone. 

Bruce was reaching for his cowl and Barry had the overwhelming feeling of a looming goodbye. To this stage, to this girl, to _this_ Bruce. But it would mean he was a step closer to home. 

Barry had moved quickly to follow Bruce’s lead. Standing to his full height Barry couldn’t help but take another look at the ghost like girl they’d been talking with. She looked impossibly small, defenseless and fragile. But the longer he looked at her, the more Barry could see aspects of her sons in her face. Noire definitely had her delicate form and Alois seemed to have gotten her defined features and elegant fingers. Her boys didn’t perfectly resemble their small-bodied creator but Barry was still able to find parts of her in them.

It would have made Noire happy to hear so – he would tell him one day.

“Your answer?” Lacie’s eyes followed Bruce as the man stood, once again slipping into his Batman persona. It looked flawless, like he’d slid into a second skin, or maybe Batman was closer to his true face than Bruce Wayne was now days. “To the riddle?”

Again Bruce hesitated, he certainly had an answer but they both stood there with the knowledge that once it was given they’d be leaving. Batman was always ready to put the mission first – but even he needed to have a moment to himself from time to time. As if wishing to reassure the man she’d known in life, the memory smiled kindly at Bruce. A small sign of encouragement.

“Each morning I appear to lie at your feet.” Bruce began to recite the riddle dutifully. “All day I will follow no matter how fast you run. Yet I nearly perish in the midday sun. Who am I?” A pause, and then Bruce smiled with a quiet laugh of disbelief.

“I am your shadow.”

Those words acted as a sort of trigger in hindsight.

At first there was relief in Lacie’s answering smile – knowing that they’d answered correctly had Barry beginning to smile as well. They’d succeeded and another stage would end – he was just a bit closer to getting home and he was amounting more and more reasons to get back. He had things he wanted to ask some and things he had to tell others. Barry couldn’t waste another second.

However at the same time something else happened. Just as the smile began to tug at the corners of his lips – the world around them was thrown into disarray.

The moment Bruce uttered the answer, a horrible sound ripped through the air. Tearing straight through Barry’s head, leaving vibrations in his chest as the sound roared around them. Barry took a blind step back, feet struggling to find balance on the rumbling ground – and the sound just got _louder_.

Horrible, furious – screeching, it took Barry a few bleary seconds to realize that the horrendous echoing was a voice. The scream that tore its way through the entire stage was so detached from the voice Barry knew as the Crooked Man, impossibly less human than the man in bandages – how was he expected to recognize it immediately?

His fingers were clapped firmly over his ears but the screaming seemed to find its way into everything. Through the cracks between his fingers, past the protective cup of his palms and into his brain. CM was shrieking and if Barry had to place a name to the quaking of the ground and screaming – he would have labeled it as a tantrum.

“You cheats!” The words came through the screaming, just as distorted and jumbled as the shrieking had been. “You nasty little sneaks! Tricksters!”

Barry’s head was aching so bad he thought he might just pass out, the pounding of his pulse was the only calm, constant sound among the rest of the chaos. But besides that he was all but deaf to all other outside stimuli – but he still had his eyes.

Past the howling and rumbling of the ground, Barry could see everything clearly. More crisply than he’d ever seen anything in his entire life. The world was breaking apart. It was not unlike the way the previous stages had disintegrated, parts of the wall and ceiling came flying off in all directions as if they were subject to a child’s angry, prying fingers. The floor faired no better, falling away in unceremonious clusters. Barry’s foot almost went with a piece of floor that crumbled right out from under him.

Beyond the rapidly shattering room, Barry could see just a glimpse of what he guessed was what CM kept outside of the stage walls. It was not quite darkness, more a murky mess of watercolors. Grimy browns and purples mingling and molding together to form nonsensical shapes. It was disgusting, absolutely revolting – and Barry could not stop _staring_.

When the world had first started to decay, collapsing as the Crooked Man’s fit of rage continued – Bruce had planted his feet firmly on the ground. He did not know how much the other world Barry had experienced in the way of exiting stages but this did not seem terribly different from the others – perhaps a tad more violent but ultimately just another door opening. Bruce planned to simply stand his ground, look for the best way to proceed without being crushed by one of the many falling fragments of wall.

He had been content to play it cool, ignore the horrible sounds raging in his head, making him deaf to all else – but he had not accounted for Barry. A glance at the other world’s Flash reminded Bruce that he did have to account for the young man – he could not disregard him as he might have a fake. Perhaps it was not his concern – it was not his Flash nor his world. The world this man came from was one he could almost scoff at, because it was so _perfect_.

It might have been cruel to be envious of Barry, given he was in this game just as Bruce was. But it was difficult not to cringe when looking at the man with the same face as his dead friend. They smiled the same, said the same impossibly ridiculous things and they shared a common fault of being too self-sacrificing.

Briefly Bruce thought of the day he’d lost their Flash. Even as the ground began to give away and the lounge he’d only moments ago been seated on disappeared into the abyss below. He thought of that day, the premature celebration of another successful mission. He hadn’t been smiling at the time, even though these sorts of idealistic memories dictated that everyone ought to be smiling in some perfect moment before ruin. But no, he hadn’t been smiling. Batman so rarely smiled in earnest – instead he’d been reprimanding Superman about something. It felt so trivial and pointless looking back on it now, remembering how Clark had smiled sheepishly and promised to try and do better. Remembering the softer person his friend had once been. Batman hadn’t been looking at the Flash when it happened, hadn’t registered the danger like the scarlet speedster had – hadn’t been able to react in time.

There was a shout, a sudden rush of air and a deafening crack, followed by the most degusting _squelching_ sound. He later realized that wet noise was Barry’s chest being pulled open. Batman whirled around to look, already running through countless possible scenarios that could have caused the sudden disturbance – none of them had ended with the Flash dead. But when he turned and looked that’s what he saw. Barry’s suit was red, one would have thought blood would be lost in the bright colour – somehow it wasn’t. The blood was thick, dark and glistening against the suddenly seemingly dull red fabric. Flash’s body had been hunched protectively around the delicate form of his once ward.

Batman remembered telling him to look after Noire no matter what.  
He regretted those instructions in that moment. 

No one could have reacted fast enough – no one but Barry. They’d all agreed that was the case, that no one could have stopped a speedster but another speedster. No one had expected the Reverse Flash to show, no one had known he was involved until he ran his hand straight through Barry’s back – bringing his heart out the other side. How could they have known? Batman should have – everyone expected him to be flawless. To be able to see all possible threats – to keep them _safe_.

So why hadn’t he? 

In a single moment, without even knowing it – they’d lost everything. The aftermath was gradual. Like a horrible, unstoppable beast it had overcome them in a matter of years. First was the grief and the anger – the first criminal to die at the hands of Superman a result of that rage. Then came the loss and confusion and Bruce was left with a young, wounded Noire Harlow to raise. Then finally there came the Justice Lords.

Just like that, Bruce’s world was lost with the final nail in the coffin.

Now he sees his former best friend behind bars with a snarl on his face and loathing behind blue eyes. Now the child he once entrusted to his dead friend, the same child that had been entrusted to _him,_ was a source of guilt and regret for him. The team they’d worked so hard to assemble and mold into a symbol for justice, , had become a force of fear and oppression. Everything had crumbled into pieces.

This Barry, this other world – they were in essence – things that Bruce could no longer have. When he looked at Barry, recognized him not as a fake but as a living, breathing reminder of his failure – Bruce had never hated him more than he had in those past few hours. Even now as the fake world they stood on broke apart and Bruce looked over at the other man who seemed to be in a trance, there was a nagging thought dominating the back of his mind.

_Push him._

Bruce knew that these games were made to be delicate; if Barry fell in any direction besides the intended door the Crooked Man would make for him – that was it. He’d die. The small, dark desire began to claw its way to the forefront of Bruce’s mind. It changed its tone when Bruce rejected it, substituting the terrible thought of ‘ _push’_ to ‘ _take’_.

_Take him. Take everything._

Why not? That selfish part of Bruce’s mind wondered for him. Why shouldn’t he have Barry? Why shouldn’t he have that other world? He knew himself well enough, he could find a way to follow Barry to his world – find his other world counterpart and replace him before the other even knew he existed.

It would be easy to have it all back, everything that had once belonged to him. Barry alive, Clark smiling – everything could go back to the way it was before the Flash died. He could see his promise to the spectral child fulfilled properly – watch over the Harlow boys until there was no guilt eating away at the back of his mind. It would be _so easy_.

That same selfish thought; why shouldn’t I have it? 

Barry was still stuck staring outside of the game boundaries; Bruce had learnt not to even glance their way because they had a habit of ensnaring the mind. It acted like a drug to pacify the intended victim as they were transported to another stage – Batman did not like to be twisted in such a way. But Barry was inexperienced and had not realized the danger. Now he stood on the edge of oblivion, not realizing that a few more seconds and he’d been taken away with the rest of the stage. Barry did not realize that all it would take was one small shove and Bruce could take everything from him. 

Bruce reached for him. His gloved fingers splaying out as they sought to find purchase on the younger man’s body. All it would take was one single shove, to kill him or to steal their world – whichever he fancied more. Bruce needed only follow Barry as he fell and drag them both through the final stages of the Crooked Man’s game. Barry would trust him, even if he was weary of him now, it was simply in Barry’s nature and with Bruce looking like someone he trusted already – it would be easy. His fingers just brushed against Barry’s arm as the ground he was standing on began to give out under him.

_Push him!_

And Bruce grabbed hold of Barry, pulling him in one swift jerk, to safety.

“Barry!” To his own ears the call was muffled, the roar of the world shattering making it all but impossible to hear anything else. If Bruce hadn’t felt his lips move to form the name he wouldn’t have been sure he’d shouted it at all. He wouldn’t hear a word of it, Bruce knew but he still urged Barry to snap out of the daze he’d been in. “Barry, look at me!”

Under his hands, Barry was shaken and only just now beginning to blink out of the haze he’d been trapped under. Realizing he’d almost fallen into the abyss, Barry’s hands shot up to cling onto Bruce’s arm, his fingers desperately clutching at him. Without being able to speak to Barry, Bruce did all he could to reassure the man and held him a little closer, allowing him to cling as he caught his breath. 

He hadn’t pushed Barry. Bruce knew he could have, could have taken anything he wanted. He had the means to do so but when he looked down at the startled man in his arms and thought of the bright, hopeful world he was to return to – Bruce couldn’t. Simple _wouldn’t_.

Bruce wanted to protect both of those things that no longer belonged to him.

With Barry safely in his grasp, Bruce turned to look at what remained of the room they’d been in. A few patches of solid ground and wall remained but they were vanishing quickly into the darkness under their feet. Bruce knew that they wouldn’t have ground at all soon enough – so he had to make a choice. It felt like he should struggle with it more, just like he felt like he should have been more tempted by his desire to take rather than protect.

But it just wasn’t.

“Go on.” Bruce’s gaze snapped up to look at the lingering figure of Lacie. Through the horrendous roaring, her small voice chimed clearly in his head – she was part of the Crooked Man, so her voice was able to carry through his rage. A single drop of calm among the sea of discord. Bruce again wondered if she was truly the Crooked Man’s final shard of compassion.

The delicate girl’s body was beginning to break apart like the rest of the world. Small chips began to fracture and fall off of her, parts of her face and hair were cracking like fine china. Soon she’d be gone with the rest of this world. But even as she decayed in front of him, fading back into whatever recesses of the Crooked Man’s mind she’d been conjured from – Lacie spared them a kind smile.

“You can’t stay here much longer.” The girl slid out of her seat as the table and her tea set fell through a gap in the floor to vanish below. The lounge she’d been siting on did not fair much better vanishing not long after the table had. Lacie didn’t seem to pay the crumbling world any mind, just as she ignored how parts of her cracked and turn to dust with every step she took towards them. 

Bruce felt like he ought to cringe away from Lacie when she reached out towards him with porcelain hands. He could see the spidering cracks spreading out along the palms of her delicate hands, some pieces crumbling from her hands only to be washed away with the wind as dust. Bruce knew feeling sentiment of any kind for the ghost of a girl was foolish – she’d been dead for years – but just as Barry was dead, seeing them in this solid form still struck Bruce deeply. 

Just as her cold fingers grazed past his cheeks in a small form of fondness, Bruce’s truly desired words slipped out. “I’m sorry.” The words were a buzz to him, inaudible over the rest of the carnage but Lacie’s face softened like she heard all the same. 

Lacie’s hands were almost how he remembered them, smooth, soft and unendingly giving. Only now they were riddled with imperfections, he could feel each chip and crack against his rugged face and each felt painful to him. When Lacie had first touched his face in this way, she’d been alive – properly alive. Before the illness stole her strength, before her skin began to resemble paper more then flesh. The illness had stolen everything from her except her face. Her eyes were still shinning, glowing with a warmth Bruce could hardly find anywhere else. In the past he’d found it in Clark and in fleeting glances from friends – but it had been years since he’d seen it, now he found it again in a ghost.

Just how closely had the Crooked Man observed those eyes to have them so perfectly captured in this ghost? Did that capture him in the same way they did to others, had he watched them turn dull as she died? Bruce would ask – when he made it to the end of this game, he’d be sure to pry the answers out of the man. Even if he got them out with a scream on the man’s broken lips.

He knew that Lacie would never agree with such methods. She’d give him that concerned little frown and gently chide him – ask him to be more gentle. Her compassion was wasted on him, on the man who killed her – on everyone. It was the reason she was dead, the reason she stood there in front of him breaking apart like glass.

“I’m…so sorry.” His apologizes slipped out unbidden, and Bruce found himself unwilling to hold them back. The things he’d always meant to say. To apologize for letting her die, for failing to protect her boys – for every promise he’d broken. Not just to her, but to Clark, who he should have stopped before the Justice Lords became a reality. To Barry, for failing to keep them safe – even to those troublesome monochrome brothers. To himself – for every promise, each word and vow he’d broken. 

But Lacie didn’t care.

“All that pain, I can still see it in your eyes.” Bruce looked up without realizing he’d dropped his gaze. Barry looked between him and Lacie, eyes wide and alight with confusion. He didn’t understand and Bruce scarcely understood himself. But he remembered these words – the first time she’d said them to him. “I am sure you didn’t wish for all this.”

Her hands, ever gentle against his face were still breaking away but she paid it no mind. Instead Lacie simply looked up at him warmly. If Bruce had to describe it, she’d have called her the sun – shinning brightly even as her fate chased up her heels. Because if she could just smile for them – maybe it would not seem so bad, maybe it would not hurt so much. Again Bruce thought of Clark, when his smile had been brighter than hers, when even the sun had paled in comparison – he’d smiled at him like this, because Bruce rarely smiled back.

Without realizing he’d wanted to, Bruce reached out with the hand not firmly around Barry’s shoulders, and clutched one of Lacie’s hands. The small delicate hand was crumbling under his fingers, but he only held onto her more tightly. This was another goodbye, another person he’d see fade from his life – but she smiled at him as it happened. To reassure him, just so that she did not leave another unhappy memory with him.

“You are stronger than you believe, and deserve to be happier than you are. But you’ll be alright.” Lacie continued gently, her voice lyrical in comparison to the screeching around them. Bruce knew the end to this, he’d heard her say it when they met – back whens he still drew breath and when he still had hope left. He had not expected to hear it now – now when it felt like the words no longer rung true. But she said it still.

Then she withdrew her hands, the simple gentle motion surprised Bruce more than when the hand he’d held broke off entirely. It crumbled away into dust, leaving Bruce with nothing but the glittering remains of what had been her fingers and Lacie with only one, fractured, hand remaining. She took that hand and pressed it flat against Bruce’s chest plate and with that same gentle expression on her face – pushed him over the edge. 

“Lacie!” Bruce shouted her name without meaning to, reaching out into the empty air ahead of him as Lacie and what remained of the structure began to grow small above him. But he could still just see her, and watch as she fully began to break away. He hadn’t been able to properly apologize to her – there were things he still wanted to say. Things he wanted to tell a girl he barely knew, maybe it was what she represented to him. Because when he thought of apologizing to her, he saw everyone else he wished to ask forgiveness from.

“You’ll be alright.” Her voice murmured from somewhere overhead and Bruce swore he could hear her smile. “Because you’re still in there.”

Bruce closed his eyes – because he didn’t want to see it when her body finally broke into pieces and the remains got taken into the air as dust. His hand wrapped round Barry’s head, holding him close so that the speedster wouldn’t see it either. A silly thing to guard him from but Bruce did it all the same. But even as the last of the replica disappeared into the air, Bruce didn’t mourn like he thought he would. There was no punch of grief in his gut, because there was something comforting in the smile he’d been given.

The air was whipping past him, snatching up his torn cape and pulling it tight around his body and Barry’s. The speedster still clutched to him tightly as the fell and Bruce kept one arm firmly around him during the descent. They were falling down the same path, through the same doorway – Bruce knew that it was Barry’s and he knew that if he continued down that temptation would return. 

That need to take from Barry and his world – but even if it returned now, Bruce felt it would be a hollow desire. Because in the first time since this game began – Bruce wanted to return home. Not the same duty driven slug through the dollhouse he’d been carrying out until now – instead it was a real desire to return to the world he knew. It was broken, hopeless – but he had to get back to it.

“Too late now.” Bruce murmured with a bemused smile as he held Barry secure against him, not quite willing to call the hold a hug. “Just one more round.”

Then he would leave Barry – send him on his own way back home and head back to his own world. Just one more round and they’d part. Bruce thought of how he’d last seen his Flash, broken and bleeding as he shielding a friend. Then he thought of Lacie the last time she’d been alive, turning away from him and leaving with the knowledge she’d never see him again. When he thought about them both – Bruce remembered something he’d overlooked. 

A stupid, simple smile.

They’d both known that death was snapping at their heels and when Bruce looked at them – once as a business man and then as batman, a friend and an ally – they smiled at him. Barry’s mouth had been bloody and he was obviously in pain as Batman shouted his name running to try and help, despite it being too little too late. Lacie had been crying the last time they met and even though Bruce tried to understand why she was sad, she wouldn’t say. Their expressions were so wretched – but they’d shone all the same. How such horrible faces could appear to shine so brightly was beyond Bruce, but they’d both been wearing those smiles with the same single message.

‘ _You’ll be alright without me_.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter got away from me.  
> The next one ought to be better.


	10. Who Would Do It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was dragging on too long, so I had to cut it short.  
> Hopefully the next chapter will follow quickly and it won't matter.

Batman hears them before he sees them.

It is difficult _not_ to overhear the curses and bickering being shouted across the dead night sky. He’d been waiting a while for the two, but even if they’d been unexpected, neither Lantern nor Black had the faintest idea how to uphold the concept of stealth. Were they currently on a mission – Batman would have been furious.

But as it was, while the two came tumbling, spitting and snarling at one another, out of the sky – Batman stood by idly and observed. Hal was by no means a child, having come into his adult years long ago – but he gave quite the illusion while trying to outrun Black like two children trying to one up each other. Black was physically still young, not quite a child maybe, but young enough to be confused for one and technically he wasn’t much more than a toddler in years spent on the planet. So perhaps it was less embarrassing to see him acting as such – Batman still would not have been so lenient with him had the situation been different.

“Lantern!” Black snarled furiously, actually going to far as to take a swipe at his Justice League escort. His anger directed primarily at the Green Lantern’s constructs that acted as a sort of travel platform. It would have been considered innocent and helpful – perhaps even considerate – had the construct not also formed a set of cuffs around Black’s feet, keeping him stuck in place. Had Hal been feeling a little more vindictive he might have made the construct a net – just to add insult to injury. “Get your damn light show off me this second or I’ll--!” 

“Cool your jets, kid.” Hal shot back with a smile that was anything but apologetic. “You’re still injured, just let the adults look after you.”

“Injured?” Black barked back furiously. His retorts being nothing short of juvenile. “When I get out of this I’ll god damn injure _you_!”

Batman was inclined to agree with the Lantern – and damn Black for putting him in that position – it was very clear that Black wasn’t moving to his fullest. The child had always fared better in the air then the on ground, despite his best efforts to master gravity and the human method of walking with two feet firmly planted on the Earth. But as he and Hal approached Batman – still oblivious to his observing them, the unperceptive idiots – the Dark Knight could clearly see where Black’s path in the sky faltered and dropped unexpectedly. He was lagging in a sense – because it must have hurt to move through the air with his usual ease. It was akin to a human limping after being injured.

He had a fair guess as to why he was stumbling in such a way. Perhaps his multiple collisions with the manmade structures during his fight with his little brother had healed – human injuries did not inconvenience the monochrome brothers in the same way they might other creatures. However, Bruce had seen how White’s tail had struck Noire in the back repeatedly. Those wounds would still be as fresh in his mind as they were on his body.

In Bruce’s ear a foreign com link cackled into life, bringing a nasty little snicker with it.

“There was no need for that.” Bruce muttered flatly to the person on the other end, there was no need to explain what he was referring to. White would be watching this from somewhere as well. Batman then got a very clear mental image of White smirking on the other end. Knowing the male he’d been sitting crouched over some vantage point, chin resting lazily against his hands as he listened to Batman chide him.

“Nonsense.” White drawled on the other end of the com, his voice cutting cleanly through Noire and Hal’s bickering. “I _barely_ grazed him.” 

Another look at Noire’s discomforted expression and occasional wince told Batman otherwise. He knew that White was simply baiting him and so he kept silent. For his response, White snorted in amusement on his end but thankfully fell silent as well.

The younger monochrome brother had not warmed to this idea immediately, the thought of only being able to observe from afar. One would think he was used to this way of life by now – maybe that was why White disliked it. But even White knew that appearing in person would do more harm than good. Noire would go at him the second they locked eyes, and it would waste precious time. Besides, Alois was – in his own words – Bruce’s dirty little secret. Of course that wasn’t a lie, but it made the terminology no less repulsive. Batman knew what he could afford to tell and what was his to know – for now Alois was no threat to anyone besides his brother and even that was not really a problem – he wouldn’t kill Noire. So the League didn’t need to know where he was – Bruce wasn’t keeping anything _important_ from them.

That was his justification.  
It was weak at best. 

“The kids are waiting.” White prompted, and without a verbal response Batman rose up to his full height – finally catching the notice of the two airborne idiots. 

“Spooky!” Hal exclaimed in a tone that was a mixture of surprise, relief and amusement. The amused undertone a lingering effect of his annoying Black no doubt. “About time.” He added as if Batman had not been the one waiting on them.

With Noire still anchored to his construct, Hal set the both of them down on solid ground only a small distance from where Batman had lingered in the shadow of the trees. The suburban area that Flash lived with didn’t offer much in the way of looming shadows, nothing like what Batman found in Gotham and he’d found himself feeling exposed without his city’s graces. The sooner this ended the better. 

“Where have you been?” Batman breezed past Green Lantern, making a beeline for Black. If being ignored bothered Jordan, the man wisely kept it to himself. One of the scarce examples of Hal ever being clever.

The boy stumbled back inelegantly, trying to back peddle faster than he could place his feet just to put some space between him and the disapproving Bat. It almost seemed unfortunate that Hal’s construct had given him his feet back, and it didn’t take long for Black’s clumsy retreat to end with him tripping over his own frantic feet. The boy was on the ground, staring up at the looming figure of Batman before the first excuse could leave his lips.

“I asked where you have been.” Batman repeated coldly, his tone all ice – the voice that criminals knew when dealing with the Batman. The echoing buzz of White’s laughter in his ear said that the male approved and that alone was almost enough to have Batman soften his voice. _Almost_. 

Noire’s eyes were huge when staring up at him, looking alarmingly like the gaze of a red-eyed owl. The kid wasn’t trembling just yet but Batman didn’t think it would take much to make him shake where he sat on the unforgiving ground.

“I…I was--” Noire’s tongue must have felt like lead in his mouth, and Batman noticed how he brought his legs and arms in a little closer to his torso, trying to shield himself from Bruce’s disapproval.

“Monochrome!” Noire winced under Batman’s snarl, and gradually his gaze lowered to the ground. A scolded child.

“Say,” White’s voice crackled unwelcomingly in his ear and Batman made no indication that he’d heard anything. White went on anyway. “why are you digging into my big brother so much?” There was an unfriendly note to White’s tone that suggested his amusement had finally given away into anger. Batman paid the snarling of the protective runt little mind and focused on the brother currently in front of him. He could puzzle out Whites bizarre possessive behavior later. For now it was filed away in his mind simply under the tagline ‘I can bully my brother, but you can’t.’

“You were the last person to see the Flash.” Batman went on, addressing Black while answering White in the same motion. Multitasking came easily, especially when the two in question had such similar mindsets – no matter how much they’d deny it. “Before he vanished _you_ were with him. Before all this started you were both in a fight with _your_ brother. So tell me Black – where have you been?” 

Each word was punctuated with a further cringe from Black, until the meaning behind the Bat’s demands finally sank in. Then the boy surged forward with the sort of urgency that Batman had seen civilians flee from collapsing buildings with.

“I didn’t!” He sputtered, hands flying up to make nonsensical gestures that were probably meant to prove his innocence. To him they might have meant something but his gestures were never fully carried out, just like his broken defenses were never properly finished. “I would never— _You_ know I’d never do anything to…!”

To Bruce’s surprise the young man’s gaze flicked between himself and Hal – looking for some sort of sign he had someone on his side. Between the two of them – excluding White on the other end of the com – everyone there knew Black’s defenses were pointless. Bruce knew that Black was not to blame for the Flash’s disappearance. At least in the sense that he was not behind it.

But his defenses, claims of ‘ _never’_ , were less watertight. Bruce looked at the frantic boy and again wondered if there was really no way he might have done something like this. If there was a chance he could – a thought for another day.

“Batman, please I--!” Black looked at him imploringly, trying to find some sort of hope that the Justice League founder believed him. “I’d never hurt him – I swear I wouldn’t!” 

“Black.” Bruce cut across the boy sharply, putting an end to his thoughtless ramblings. “I need you to think. Listen to what I am saying, and _think_.” Noire, for all his faults, could at least be silent and observant when need be. He was quite good at silence actually – a trait Bruce would have been grateful should the others decide to take pointers from. Hal for a start.

“You were the last person to see the Flash. You left his home the night you fought with your brother. Since then no one has seen or heard from the Flash and until Lantern found you tonight-” A small noise from Hal told Bruce that he wanted a bit more recognition – he would have to wait. “-you have not been heard from either.” 

Noire’s red eyes were starting to widen, beginning to understand what Bruce was getting at. “So, I will ask you again – where have you been Black?”

He understood now, between the time that he and Flash had parted way, there was a large chunk of time unaccounted for. Hal had contacted Bruce over the com link to tell him where he’d found Noire – the location as not unusual in the least. But for that long? That many hours, in a cemetery? It was not only unusual but it seemed like at least someone would have seen him. The cemetery was hardly a bustling area of the city – but surely one person might have stumbles across him. But instead there was nothing, not a single sighting or mention of Noire until Hal found him. Batman didn’t like that very much.

“I…tried going home.” Now he began to understand, listing off what he remembered in simple terms to Bruce. To piece together what they were missing. “Tried to go back, to apologize.” A snort from Hal echoed Bruce’s thoughts – an apology was unlikely. Thankfully Noire only tossed Hal a dirty look, not lashing out beyond that.

“But when I got there – I couldn't get in. I tried busting in, I was…worried.” His tone suggested he meant to say he was scared and only pride stopped him from doing so. “I panicked when nothing worked – so I tried to bust the door down and…”

“And?” Bruce prompted when Noire fell silent. The boy didn’t immediately answer, instead he only shook his head and stared, wide-eyed at the ground. 

“I was back at the cemetery. Everything just got hazy, and I was so tired. I just couldn’t move, my body didn’t want to – so I slept there. That’s the last I can remember.” 

“Noire.” Bruce spoke to him gently, even using his true identity, that seemed to alarm Noire more and the boy looked at him in a familiar way. The same glance he’d give Bruce whenever Barry panicked and called the man over for whatever reason. The sort of stare Noire gave him when he thought he was in danger rather than trouble. Still just a scared little child under all that other nonsense. “That was a whole day ago.”

“If someone drugged _my_ brother--!” Alois’s furious voice cut away to static as he began to shout something that the com wouldn’t pick up. The sound was loud enough that the earpiece simply went to static and Bruce couldn't make out all the angry words being used. Perhaps that was for the best.

But the angry brother had a point, Noire could have been under the influence of some drug. The monochrome brothers were impervious to some things humans fell victim to – Bruce was yet to try the effects of some more insidious drugs on the pair. He knew they could get sick from eating bad food, and Noire had even fallen ill once of a natural cause – they were hardly invulnerable so it was possible that certain drugs could have the same effects on them as human victims. In some cases the effects may even be worse than what humans suffered. However Noire didn’t mention anyone else. No needle, no cloth around his mouth and nose – simply coming into contact with Barry’s door. 

“How did you try to break in?” Bruce continued calmly, trying not to fuel Noire’s rising panic. He needed a bit more information, details, and he wouldn’t get any of it if Noire had a panic attack. 

“I…” He gulped, the trembling had finally started and it had nothing to do with Bruce’s presence. “I tried to push it open with my hands and when that didn’t work I tried to break it with my shadows. I hit it with just one – just enough that I thought the hinges would break.” 

Bruce hummed thoughtfully and stood back to his full height, thinking about what Noire said.

“Physical contact did nothing?” Noire shook his head in confirmation and Bruce’s eyes narrowed under his cowl. So it was only when Noire tried to use his powers to open the door that he was thrown back to the cemetery in a daze. They could test this theory by going to Barry’s and having Noire knock on wood as it were, however that risked him being thrown into whatever state he’d been in before. If that made him violent or unable to control his actions he might very well hurt someone – so Bruce resolved to think a little more before making any firm decisions.

For now he knew that there was some reaction to Noire’s power as opposed to physical force – that could be useful information.

“On your feet Black.” The boy scrambled to comply and Bruce almost regretted not offering him a hand. He couldn’t be too doting. “We’ll go back to the house – and this time we’ll think before we act.”

There were a thousand different criticisms Bruce had of Noire Harlow right then. But most were put on the backburner in favour of focusing on Barry’s safety and a few were discarded all together when he saw how distressed Noire was. Once everyone was once again safe – then Bruce could rip into the two of them for their carelessness.

“Lantern, Black – you will both meet me there.” Batman continued, reaching into his belt to retrieve his grappling hook. This area of Central City didn’t have quite the same built up area he preferred, but it would be enough.

“Hey, hold up a second.” Hal stepped forward, looking like he had a complaint ready. But Bruce had already shot the hook and taken off, not willing to wait and listen to the Green Lantern’s petty gripes. He only just caught the sound of Hal groaning as he left, they knew where Barry’s house was – only a small distance from here – but Bruce needed to have his own room to speak aloud to the other, invisible fourth person present. 

He needed to be three more houses over before stopping, ducking down between two homes and waiting in the darkness till he saw the light of Hal and Noire pass overhead. He couldn’t hear any arguing this time, so either they were both quiet out of concern or Hal had made a construct to gag Noire.

A few more second passed before Bruce brought his gloved hand up to gently place pressure against the communicator, keeping it quiet as he could. When you knew men that could hear a passing conversation almost a whole world over – you did tend to mind your words just that little bit more. Thankfully Clark’s focus was not likely to be on him right now, best keep it that way.

“Monochrome White.” There was an answering hum on the other end, it didn’t sound quite like Alois was bored, more like he was thinking deeply. “What is your take on this?”

A pause. Silent and a touch too heavy. Then finally White let out a sigh and it sounded as if he was slumping back wherever he was seated. Weariness – Bruce could understand that.

“An impenetrable house?” White drawled and Bruce could easily imagine how the young man’s eyebrows would draw together tightly. “Sounds like you ought to call that fly boy of yours.”

It took a great deal of effort not to get irritated by that comment, and begrudgingly, Alois may have a point. A stupid, ill thought out, heavily sardonic, point.

“You think brute force will open it?” Batman replied, allowing just a touch of cynicism in his own voice. In one of his better moment, Alois chose to ignore that tone. 

“Do any of your crazies fit this sort of thing?” White asked, listing off the basic possibilities. Batman grimaced, simply because he was the only one there to know he’d done it. His crazies, as Alois put it, were capable of most anything between them all. It was hard to pin down a simple pattern. In some respects it was obvious – Scarecrow could always be traced back to fear and the inner workings of the mind. Two-face was overly attached to those coins of his and the idea of justice. Calendar man liked dates – go figure. Poison Ivy had very distinctive pollens and plant related crimes. Her poisons were entirely different to Scarecrows fear toxin or the Jokers laughing gas, and in turn theirs were different from everyone else’s. So yes, in some ways it was easy to identify their work.

In other ways…it was nearly impossible. The Joker might have a few running gags so to say, a few obvious markers – but the things he did, the reasons he did them – if any at all – were so varied that it was hard to always pick it right. It wasn’t unusual for the Joker to do something that could be traced back to another super villain’s style – at least for the less experience. Batman was one of the unfortunate few that almost always knew when it was the Joker – it was something that came with familiarity. He dearly wished that he’d never had to become so familiar with anything related to the Joker.

But a house that couldn’t be entered, and a missing superhero? That didn’t immediately fit any of Batman’s ones. Add on top of that some sort of drugged state and the leaving of a lesser hero in a cemetery – and things got even murkier. It didn’t fit anyone; there was no significant date for someone like calendar man, no money to be gained by Penguin – nothing plant related for Ivy. Zasz would have cut Noire to bits and pieces and there was no way that Mad Hatter would have taken Barry – he didn’t fit the ‘Alice’ he needed. Perhaps if the vigilante that had been captured in the house was someone other than Flash – it could have been the Joker. Not his usual style, but he lashed out on occasion – just for a good laugh.

However Bruce knew he was still in Arkham, hoped it would stay that way indefinitely this time. Unlikely. Also the Joker was hardly shy when it came to taking credit – if he’d been the one to do this, his name would be all over it. Noire wouldn’t be so unscathed in a cemetery either; there’d be something. Something that left Joker’s fingerprints on it.

“Unlikely.” Batman finally decided. He wouldn’t rule anything out until he had a bit more information, but this didn’t look like anyone of his villains. “It’s more likely one of Flash’s. That group, the Rogues, is it possible that they--?” 

“ _No_.” The sheer venom in the word surprised him. It was as though Alois had taken every ounce of insult, anger and force he could muster up and put it all behind one word. For a few seconds Batman analyzed that response, it felt a little too hasty – too offended. “The Rogues wouldn’t touch this. It’s not their work.”

Yes, that was definitely too personal. Bruce quickly ran his mind over what he knew of the Rogues and what he’d come to know about White recently. He was hardly a member, didn’t run in their circles and Bruce couldn’t remember a time where White had outright worked on a heist with them. However it was not unusual for White’s name to pop up when the Rogues did move, information trading, the occasional assist – no matter which way Bruce looked at it, White had a hand in the Rogues somewhere. To what extent and why he couldn’t say just yet.

For now it could be useful – Alois might not have the same database of information on the criminals like Batman did, but if he knew them personally then it could be of value. Mirror Master had been known to cause problems in the past, partnering up with types even less savory then the Rogues but this didn’t quite fit him either. The Rogues had an even firmer set of signatures than the Arkham inmates. If it had to do with the cold – Lenoard Snart was probably involved. If something was set ablaze – it was Heatwave, something coated in gold – Golden Glider. Their names were their identifiers – none of them read ‘impenetrable house man.’

That would be an awful name.

“Fine.” Batman eventually allowed and he wouldn’t have minded seeing White’s surprise when he gave so easily. “If not the Rogues then who else in Central would do something like this?”

This time the silence that followed was thicker, more telling. Alois took a small breath and it felt like he was counting the seconds before speaking, like he wasn’t sure if he should or could say what was on his mind. Then finally, the breath was released and Alois spoke. 

“I have an idea.” The words were quiet and biting. Alois sounded equal parts bitter and uneasy. It was almost something like fear. “Around Central lately there’s been this… _thing_.” He continued, voice hardly becoming more encouraging. “I’ve caught sight of it from time to time, lurking around the Flash’s house.”

“White – details. What does it look like?” Batman demanded.

“It looks like the Flash.” Alois answered sharply. Bruce highly doubted White’s frustration was actually directed at him. “As in I can’t properly see it – it’s _fast_. I thought it was the Flash at first, but its colours are all wrong – it’s yellow. Like gold running through the streets.”

Batman felt both relief and dread flood through him. So Thawne was back in their time then. Eobard Thawne hadn’t showed his face in this century for a long time – long enough that they’d almost begun to hope he was truly gone. The dread of his return would affect Barry far more than it did Bruce – it would be like hearing the Joker had returned after a long, blissful silence. Horrifying, but deep down – predicable.

However – this was not something Thawne could set up surely. He was a speedster, not a magician.

“No.” Batman answered finally. “The thing you saw isn’t behind this. Speedsters might mess with timelines and run across oceans – but they are hardly magical.” Alois grunted on the other end, not exactly a sound that inspired great relief. It sounded to Batman like Alois was _more_ alarmed by this. His thoughts confirmed by the next small question that slipped out of Alois’s mouth.

“Then what is it doing?” Batman thought it would be best not to comment on how small Alois sounded, how much he could sound like his brother when he was afraid. “Why is it here? Why was it looking into my brother’s room…?” 

A small chill ran down Bruce’s spine and he decided to look into this new found information as soon as possible. Barry would need to know at some point – but Bruce wanted to do his own investigating first. Barry would panic and maybe do something foolish – he needed a level head to deal with this and right now Bruce could hardly consider anyone in their team level headed.

“One problem at a time.” Bruce reasoned as he pulled his grappling hook out again, this time ready to head to Barry’s house.

“Hey, Bats.” Alois’s voice had not yet fully pulled out of its quiet state and Bruce made a point to focus on where he was firing his grappling hook more than the child speaking to him. They looked like adults but both those boys were hardly old enough to look after themselves. Lacie would have been appalled at him – for letting them both fall into disarray as they had. The imagined scorn of a dead girl stung more viciously than it should have. “I do have one more idea. If you’re willing to hear me out.”

He was dearly tempted to refuse. For White to ask permission, it probably meant that it involved something nasty – but as of right now they were running out of leads.

“I’ll consider it. Speak fast.”

 

…  
…

  

The ground was coming up too quickly, at too great a distance. Batman only had a few seconds to calculate all of this as well as factor in Barry’s weight – conclusion? This was going to hurt.

Bracing himself best as he could, Bruce kept his arms curled protectively around the currently speedless speedster. Had he still had his grappling hook things might have been made easier on the two of them – but even if he had, the Crooked Man made sure that he’d have nothing to latch onto until he was in the next stage. Hitting the ground was part of the game after all. 

Barry must have realized that they weren’t going to slow down as the smaller male curled in Bruce’s arms slightly. He was hardly a coward but instinct was most likely ruling all of his actions at this point and right now Bruce’s body made for a protective shield between him and the ground. That was fine – pain Bruce could handle.

And when his shoulder connected firmly with the stone floor under them, following by a snap and crack, Bruce was reminded just how much ‘hurt’ he could endure. The first hit was not nearly the worst of the fall, his shoulder exploded into white-hot pain and a quick mental note was made. Something was probably broken. 

It was unlike the Crooked Man to damage his playthings; at least in Bruce’s experience it was not in the man’s nature to damage them before the trials could begin. He was still nursing some tender ribs after the second floor – an unfortunate run in with a replica Red Hood. At the very least it had not been Allen’s body that made the first contact with the ground.

The second hit with the floor was less sever but there was still so much force and speed behind their tumble that both Barry and Bruce got tossed along the ground. Places where Bruce’s suit had already been torn in previous encounters left his skin exposed to the unforgiving drag – easily ripping open what vulnerable skin it could find. The scrapping of the uneven gravel like flooring under them began to tear at more than just skin. Gritting his teeth, Bruce tried to keep a hold of Barry but when a part of his gauntlet broke free. The savage pull on his arm jerked Bruce’s hand away from Barry and even as he fought to once again find his grip, Barry’s body came loose.

A small grunt of pain was all Bruce heard when Barry’s body final made its first honest connection with the ground, but thankfully the man did not roll too far and suffered very little punishment. Bruce’s own body eventually slid to a halt just a few meters away. There was a moment where Bruce did not even attempt to stand, didn’t bother trying to pull himself together. Instead he lay where he’d come to a stop and took stock of all his possible injuries. His shoulder was still the biggest trouble but he had already guessed the extend to which he’d been injured there, instead his mind moved onto the places where the gravel had pulled flesh free from the muscle. Trying to see just how deep or extensive the grazing was. 

It took maybe thirty seconds for Bruce to make a mental list of just how many places on his body was now without the top layer of skin. Thankfully most of his suit had stayed firm and while the skin underneath felt raw – it would remain unbroken. The places where his suit had failed were the areas that were beginning to show traces of red. Matted with small rock shards and dirt, the wounds – while not life threatening – would become infected if not cleaned and covered soon. The likelihood of seeking medical attention any time soon was low and Bruce knew he’d have to find another solution – at least until this ridiculous game ended.

Satisfied that the small tumble had not caused him any lethal injuries, Bruce finally pulled himself into a sitting position. He had to bite back an agonized groan and then when upright, fight off a wave of nausea that was quickly chased by a blossoming headache. Bruce had faired through worse. 

“Barry.” The name came out almost without his consent, raw and rough to his own ears. Instinctively Bruce looked up for the speedster and was relieved when he spotted the man still laying down only a small distance away. He could not see all of Barry, but he did not see any blood and the speedster’s chest was rising and falling steadily – that was enough comfort for now. 

Getting to his feet was more of an ordeal than sitting up had but this time he made no sound. Control came back quickly; his body just needed a bit more time to come around. Ignoring his body’s various complaints, Bruce began to make his way towards Barry. His first checking glance had reassured Bruce that Barry was not gravely injured but his continued none responsiveness was troubling him now.

Reaching out for the fallen man, Bruce tried again to get a response out of him. “Barry, are you--”

Perhaps he should have expected it when a wall slammed down between Barry and himself. The hand that he had reached out for Barry was whipped back to his side, only just avoiding getting caught by the abrupt rising of the barricade.

A _glass_ wall.

Bruce’s blood ran cold as his mind shot back to the last time the Crooked Man had put him and another in a scenario like this. Wasn’t once enough?

Only now did Barry begin to stir, looking very much like he was only just able to pull himself out of unconsciousness. “Wha--? Bruce?” His voice was thick and Bruce was worried maybe he had not been able to successfully shield the younger man from the fall. 

“Now then.” When the Crooked Man’s hissing voice broke into the air, Bruce’s teeth ground together so hard he was sure that this time they might just crack under the force. “Now that we’re all here – how about we continue?” The tone of the man’s voice was hardly comforting. Bruce hadn’t heard the Crooked Man properly livid before, but this quiet honey sweet seething was probably the closest he was going to get to it.

“The two of you thought you could cheat me? In _my_ game?” There was less honey and more venom in each biting word. “I made this game especially for you – all for _you_. And how do you repay me? By cheating and lying like a pair of snakes!” 

“We didn’t!” Barry protested angrily, apparently having come back to himself enough to be insulted by the mad man’s accusations. Bruce would have rolled his eyes had he not been wearing his cowl. It felt wrong to roll his eyes while in the Batman attire – but it was terribly tempting. Only Barry would bother debating the comments of a mad man.

“ _You did_!” The disembodied voice hissed back childishly before taking a moment to compose itself and continue at a marginally more civil tone. “But seeing as I’m so _generous_ I won’t disqualify you. Besides, I’d hate for the pair of you to miss out on this.”

Bruce straightened his back out at the Crooked Man prattled on, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice.

“You’re a coward.” The silence that followed Bruce’s simple comment was perhaps one of the iciest he’d experienced. Not a word was spoken but Burce could practically feel the concealed man seething. The truth must have stung more than he’d expected. “You could have stepped in at any time, changed anything to suit your needs. As you said, this is your game. But you didn’t. Instead you hid and waited, vainly hoping we’d leave.”

Humans were incredibly foolish creatures. Bruce knew that better than most, not simply from observing his allies and enemies ridiculous habits but also from taking the time to study his own choices and motions. People were so incredibly alone in their own heads, it was just their own voice in there echoing back familiar sentiments and justifications. Realistically there was nothing to fear in there, it was about as safe as one could get without the intrusive, prying fingers of a physic. 

Yet for some reason there was still fear and a sort of divide in their heads. Humans created things to blame and scorn in their own mind, call it what you will ‘the devil’, ‘temptation’ – the evil ‘me’. It hardly mattered, the interesting thing was that it seemed to exist in there and act as a scapegoat for all the hosts anger. To blame themselves and somehow avoid all fault in the same moment. I wasn’t myself was such a popular term for a reason.

It seemed the Crooked Man was no stranger to these falsified demons. His, however, took a slightly different form. It wasn’t a small malicious voice in his head that bothered him, instead it was the remains of his conscience that concerned him. So he’d hidden when the Lacie duplicate appeared, recoiling into some dark space where he wouldn’t have to face that lingering human sentimentality. Just so he wouldn’t have to see her face or hear her voice – a coward’s choice. 

Did that exist in everyone? Maybe not. Bruce briefly thought of the monsters he’d met, some couldn’t possibly have that little niggling uncertainty. Thoughts of the former Joker filled his head and Bruce did his best to dismiss the mere possibility, but when a red cape came to mind – well maybe it was possible.

Really, humans were so predictably moronic. Creating and sectioning parts of themselves off as if it could somehow stop being part of them.

“Is that what you think, Bat?” Crooked Man’s voice returned, cracking furiously. “Fine. If you won’t play nice you can be the Flash’s challenge.”

On the other side of the glass wall, Barry looked up towards the sky as if that was the source of the Crooked Man’s voice. The speedster had gotten close to the wall, touching his hands along it like he was looking for some imperfection. Bruce felt a small swell of pride that he very much kept to himself.

“A riddle and a challenge,” Crooked Man continued, voice biting and spiteful. Bruce felt that playing nice was off the table for everyone.

“So here is your riddle.” 

Somewhere Bruce swore he heard something dropping into the area behind him. Judging by the metallic echo it was a weapon of some kind, unless the man had taken to dropping random slips of scrap metal around. Even that could have been made to work as a weapon.

“And here’s a challenge.” 

This time Bruce swore out loud as the floor underneath his feet unexpectedly shifted. He only managed to step off the danger zone when the space was uprooted from below. The large slab of earth lifted a bit higher into the sky and a tiny spark of recognition crossed Bruce’s gaze. He hadn’t seen ground lifted up like that in a while – about as long as the Lords had stopped existing. 

When the massive slab of earth came hurling at the Bat, he flung himself out of the way, shooting a grappling hook off into the darkness. It found purchase and Bruce let it jerk him out of the path of destruction when the wire tried to coil up. It was very nearly too little too late and Bruce felt a few loose pieces of debris bounce off his suit as he evaded the potentially lethal attack.

It was a mistake to look up, a fault in his judgment to bother looking for a familiar face. He knew well enough that the Crooked Man would put any face in front of him if it might make him falter. Despite this, it was a reflexive glance upwards and Bruce saw what he already guessed. 

“Superman.” 

There was a fleeting moment where Barry felt like something fortunate had just happened. The usual flood of relief at seeing Superman’s familiar form. It was short-lived as all of Bruce’s comments about ‘his’ Superman came back into Barry’s head. That and even if it had been the Superman from Barry’s universe, this was the Crooked Man’s creation, it would just be some twisted up version of what he already knew.

Barry felt the distinct lack of his speed again; the emptiness where the speedforce usually raged through his veins left him feeling cold and helpless. He could outrun Superman on a good day – today wasn’t even going to cut it as a simple bad day. But that wall was still between them. It separated Superman from Barry and while he wasn’t sure he believed any construct could properly keep Superman at bay, if the Crooked Man wanted the wall it was there to keep Bruce and Barry apart, not to keep a duplicate in.

That wall was there to keep Barry from being able to reach Bruce and just as efficiently kept Bruce inside with the duplicate. His mind had not fully shaken off the memories of the fake Len he’d come across and seeing such a familiar structure alone sent a icy shiver down Barry’s spine.

“Bruce!” It must have been sentimental on his part to feel anything for the Batman from another reality. But how could he turn a blind eye when this man was just as alive as the one Barry knew back home. A different world, not his own in any sense – but that man standing on the other side of the divide facing down a familiar face – that man was still a life. 

Barry couldn’t let it just slip through his fingers.

“And begin.” No sooner than the disembodied voice cackled into life, the super fake had lunged for Bruce.

True to his role as a Batman of any universe, Bruce was quick on his feet. Diving away from the man before he could crush Bruce between himself and the ground. The floor itself didn’t fair much better, smashing and crumbling to bits under this version of Superman’s hands.

“This isn’t fair!” Barry shouted, as if somehow he might be able to reason with the man that watched from somewhere in the darkness. “You’re suppose to challenge me as well, you can’t put all this on Bruce!” He could practically see the Crooked Man bristling with agitation at his accusations. Well his mind had to conjure up an imagined version of him seeing as Barry had very little to actually go off appearance wise. “I thought you played by the rules Crooked Man.”

“Don’t name me a cheat!” The voice spat furiously. “On each side of the wall there is a challenge for you both, once the riddle is found either can answer. I am nothing if not fair in my games!” Clearing his throat in an effort to regain composure, the monster took a few seconds to calm himself before continuing. In that short pause Barry caught sigh of Bruce very nearly getting struck by the fake Superman.

Bruce was fast, and impressive. No one on earth – his or any other – would deny this. However Superman, even a mere fake, could not be out maneuvered in these conditions. It was a quietly accepted fact that should Superman lose his moral compass and rules, he could probably kill anyone and anything that came up against him. Even Bruce knew this; maybe he knew it better than anyone else – especially this version of Wayne. 

It was a matter of time before Bruce ran out of room to dodge or trick Superman with small fake outs. Only a matter of time before the man was captured and killed right in front of Barry. 

Not again. Not another person dying just beyond his reach. He was too slow to save anyone, and Barry knew that if he couldn’t find something other than speed to help him, he was _always_ going to be too slow. 

“Please.” Barry blurted out into the empty space that he addressed as the Crooked Man. 

Humming almost thoughtfully the disembodied voice did not speak for a few more seconds following the accidental plea Barry let out. “If you want to save him so bad, all you have to do is kill someone else. Either of you can complete this challenge – just kill your enemy and save a friend. Simple.” Except it wasn’t simple and he god damn knew that. 

Frustrated and feeling more pressed for time than he could remember feeling in the past five years of his always being late, Barry took off in search of his own ‘challenge’. With no idea what he was going to do when he found it. Killing someone had never been on the table, not for him and certainly not to Bruce.

They just didn’t do that. 

The arena that the Crooked Man had dumped them into was similar to the maze of doors Barry first found himself lost in. Although it was considerably smaller judging by the fact that Barry never fully lost sight of the glass wall and even if it did vanish behind a wall at some point it only took him another turn to be able to see it again. Somewhere in the mass of hotel looking hallways and lackluster bedrooms – there had to be something to help Bruce. The Crooked Man for all his wicked little game ideas seemed to have a consistent habit of ruining himself. Barry just had to find what the fault in this level was.

Preferably before Bruce got his brains bashed in by the replica.

While Barry rushed around the seemingly empty halls looking for anything that might help in someway, Bruce had his hands full just staying out of reach. Despite the dire state of the situation, it did offer a rare opportunity to further scrutinize the Crooked Man’s games. The replicas that Bruce had seen as near perfection in their detail were showing cracks in more than just the tweaking of their goals and methods.

As the fake Superman wrenched his fist free of the wall he’d only moments ago slammed into in a vain attempt to crush Batman, there was enough time for Bruce to get a proper look at this replica. Like those before it, the thing was visually perfect from his own memories of the man of steel. Even the hard line of the man’s brow, bent down in a seemingly permanent scowl matched the expression Superman had started to wear more frequently when the Justice Lords were first introduced to the world.

The details were all there and should the fake open its mouth Bruce knew it would spill out things he already knew. It’d talk to him in a familiar voice and rattle of things that for all intents and purposes should have been a secret. Bruce had considered the possibility that the Crooked Man was dipping into his and by extension, Barry’s minds. Picking apart their memories to make these imitations. But after having met Barry and talked briefly about things they did and did not know – it became rather obvious that the Crooked Man had access to information that was closed off from both his chosen captives.

Which meant he was probably picking through other people’s minds. Bruce was no stranger to preplanning; actually he prided himself on the study and analysis that took place before any major action or decision. He had not expected it of a supposedly dead man, especially when his memory of the Crooked Man stated that he was frivolous and simple minded at best.

But he had been patient. For how long had he remained shielded behind his deceased status to quietly find the things he needed. How many people’s dreams had he gleefully intruded on just to drag up scraps of information? The sense of being violated was one that Bruce couldn’t give much time to stew on when the fake was turning to face him again – eyes that should have been blue blazing red. 

Yes, Crooked Man had done his research and for the most part his replicas were impressive visions of the people he’d chosen to use as puppets. However he lacked control. 

The puppets were given too much free reign even within the confines of the Crooked Man’s domain. He made them almost too well and he was a weak man at his core – a coward that relied on others to do everything for him. He created almost perfect imitations of life and then they slipped out of his control. Time and time again they moved beyond their given parameters. The Robins Bruce had encountered became too emotive when prompted correctly, even the replica Red Hood caved into the memories that the Crooked Man had gifted him with. He gave them years of memory, of thought and feeling – but no time to adjust to it.

He was a fool.

“Superman.” The fake was surprised. If Bruce had to hazard a guess, he had not expected the Bat to talk with him. It was difficult to stifle the bitter grin that wanted to form on his mouth. He let himself get wrapped up in words. The real Superman was just the same, an idiot to the end.

Against the man of steel there were better things to fight with than fists. Bruce had very little in this arrangement, but he still had his words. Superman had always fallen victim to his words – the fake should be no different. 

“Bruce.” The fake answered stonily, as if speaking his identity aloud would somehow give him the advantage.

“Not Batman?” Bruce retorted, keeping his own tone mostly flat. Superman had the best hearing this side of the universe; the slightest inflection in pitch or rate of his heartbeat would tip him off to Bruce’s temperament. It had taken a lot of effort to control those things to the point that even Superman was guessing what his intentions were. Perfect. When gadgets and fists would not work, anxiety and uncertainty undoubtedly would.

“Because there’s no one else around to hear you say it?” He continued almost casually, going so far as to take a step towards Superman. Oh, and Bruce was confident that for a moment he saw the fake tense – guarded but not quite afraid. Even in such horrible circumstances, Superman was weary of him. Him, a simple human. It was viciously humorous in a way. “Funny, you never once called me Bruce within earshot of another living soul.” Now he _knew_ he saw Superman’s eyes narrow, flickering dangerously and so he put the final nail in the coffin. “I wonder why that is.”

The slight dip into mockery was enough to get Superman moving again. As if he could punch away Bruce’s implications. His bullheaded, enraged movements were predictable but Bruce knew he’d be caged in sooner or later. This time Superman got closer to snagging him and Bruce retreated to the cover of some of the broken pillars left scattered around by Superman’s previous, rather excessive entrance. The darkness would not hide him for longer than a few moments at a time, Superman needed only to calm down and focus and he’d find Bruce in a number of ways. Super hearing catching his heartbeat, x-ray vision, finding his body pressed up against the stonework.

But the odds of the man calming down enough to do so were slim.

“Damn it, Bruce! Stop hiding in the shadows you treacherous snake!” His shouting really wasn’t going to help him focus. Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he remembered this spiel. Always the same accusations, throwing names faster than Bruce thought the man was actually thinking them. His flare for dramatics had translated into the fake it seemed.

Betrayal ran deep, Bruce understood that. But if they were going to get caught on this– they’d betrayed humanity first.

“We were friends. _Partners_.” He was still going on, as if somehow he might get some sort of sympathy from the Bat. If the real Superman failed, a fake was not going to fair any better. Idly Bruce wondered how much Superman wanted him to see the world through his eyes. As if he was still looking for some sort of approval from the Bat. He’d never get it.

From the corner of his eye, Bruce could just see Barry’s fleeting form rushing through the maze that the Crooked Man had placed on his side of the glass. Briefly concern for the other man crossed his mind, which was fairly unreasonable when he was the one on this side of the glass with a murderous kryptonian. 

What was he looking for? Bruce’s eyebrows drew together tightly as he watched Barry disappear around another corner. He was rushing around as if he might actually be able to find something to get them out of this bind. Bruce didn’t feel quite so optimistic. Distantly he could hear Superman breaking something, probably acting out of anger while Bruce kept his cool. Optimistic maybe not, but that did not mean that Bruce was willing to let Superman pull his heart right out of his chest.

“Don’t ignore me, Bruce!” Seemed his time was up. Without bothering to check over his shoulder, Bruce lunged away from the wall. Using the pillar as something to push off and throw some distance between himself and the place he’d just been sitting. It was barely a second later that spot was buried under the remains of the pillar as Superman practically smashed through it.

There was a comment in the back of his mind about the super powered man being clingy even in a replica form but Bruce decided he liked his spine not broken – and thus kept it to himself.

Continuing to backup, Bruce could feel the last of his hiding places beginning to slip away. It was unlikely that he’d be able to put much distance between them as Superman got more and more agitated.

He was no fool; he knew how this game was supposed to play out. This might as well have been the Crooked Man’s punishment for the stunt they’d pulled in the last level. It didn’t help that Batman felt very much that this version of the Crooked Man was the one that had dragged Barry into the game – not the one that had snatched him. He could ponder how they’d ended up with Barry’s monster rather than his if he survived. But for the time being that meant that the Crooked Man most likely wouldn’t be too perturbed should Bruce die here. Barry was the real target.

But a game was a game and no matter what world, the crooked man couldn’t resist.

A small resistance met Bruce’s heel as he took another cautious step backwards. It felt solid but it wasn’t rubble or debris from the areas that Superman had demolished in his superhuman hissy fit. A quick daring glance down and Bruce realized what it was – the thing that he’d heard dropping into the stage when the Crooked Man first announced the new game. 

The riddle? 

Superman was still nearing him, most likely thinking that no matter what it was that had captured the Bat’s attention, it wouldn’t be any sort of threat. Except the thing that Bruce had stepped on was familiar to him. A simple, small, black box. It was just the right size and shape and Bruce could swear he could even see the small scuff on the side from where the box used to clip against the sharp edge of one of his utility belt cases. 

A cold chill raced down Bruce’s spine when the weight of what the Crooked Man had given him truly sunk in. In an effort not to let his churning stomach stop him from moving, Bruce quickly snatched up the box. The weight was just how he remembered it, he hadn’t held this particular box in what felt like a life time. Not since Superman back in his world had been locked away.

The replica pause, looking at Bruce with that very nearly digested sneer. It was the look of superiority that had no place on that face, Bruce had seen it more often than he wished to recall. It was foolish to be feeling nostalgic at a time like this, but Bruce couldn’t help but think back to a time when Superman’s face hadn’t been quite so foul. 

Back when he’d been Clark Kent instead of Superman.

“What are you doing, Bruce?” Superman asked, sounding more quietly frustrated than amused. Like he was dealing with an disobedient child whose antics had finally worn their welcome. “Can’t you for just _once_ in your life see reason? Why do you always have to be so damn stubborn?” 

He hadn’t recognized what was in Bruce’s hand. Good, if he had then maybe he’d realize that he should kill Bruce immediately rather than waste time speaking. Bruce was doing no better, he should have used the life line he’d been given without a second thought but he knew this game too well. Someone had to die.

If it were Bruce that died under Superman’s unforgiving hands – it would be a simple death. But that wasn’t what the Crooked Man really wanted, if it were he wouldn’t have set the game up this way. Bruce knew now what Barry would find on the other side of the glass. A familiar face he dreaded seeing. Someone that the world would be better without, someone Barry Allen might just hate. 

Someone he could be tempted to kill if it meant saving Bruce.

A hero never kills, one of the Crooked Man’s rules. If broken it would result in an immediate game over. It was now that Bruce realized there was truly no way for both he and Barry to win this round. One of them would lose, be it by death or murder. 

“Ha, check mate I suppose.” 

Superman just had enough time to look confused before Bruce clicked the box open and the green light flooded out form under its lid.


	11. Imperfect Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the bae.

It hardly took a second for the stone to cripple Superman.

Seemed kryptonite worked just fine in the Crooked Man’s universe as it did back home. Bruce watched on impassive, as Superman stumbled away. He was falling to the effects of kryptonite immediately and as the man of steel dropped to his knees with a thud – Bruce idly wondered if his final move in the Crooked Man’s game would be to take a life of a former friend. 

A hero never kills. He knew that, it was that niggling thought in the past that had driven him from the Justice Lords. But this was fine; Bruce didn’t feel much like a hero. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. 

“Superman.” The trembling man looked up in alarm as Bruce approached him. The effects of the green stone seemed worse than what Bruce remembered, perhaps the Crooked Man had tweaked the game to be this way. To make murder physically easier for Bruce. “What am I doing? Maybe I’ll finally see your reasoning. You should be pleased.” 

He said it to force a flickering terror into the alien’s eyes. It was there, just as he’d hoped and so Bruce let the box drop from his hand, allowing it to crash to the ground, abandoned. The kryptonite fell with the box and landed a small distance from the both of them, left out in the open. As Superman looked between him at the stone as if he were mad for having discarded his greatest weapon and possibly only hope of besting the man of steel physically, Bruce leisurely lowered himself into a fighting stance.

“You’ll have to make me see it your way. Evenly matched this time.” Bruce wasn’t sure if what he was doing was right or wrong. His sense of justice felt far away, but there was one thing he could hold onto. He was going to get Barry back to his world. Back to a place where his team was still a team and Clark Kent still existed with a kindness he could only now remember. 

His fists tightened, clenching and unclenching as Superman dragged himself back up to his feet. There was a time where he felt so disorientated and apprehensive that he had not been able to tell who was doing the right thing. Unsure if his sense of justice was truly any less warped than Superman’s had become. But just as back then, regardless of how uncertain his footing was, Bruce knew that standing still was not an option. 

He had to keep moving forward. 

One way or another, Barry would not be dirtying his hands nor dying in this round. Bruce had accepted that already, and now all that was left was for them to see which of them would manage to kill the other first. He’d lost, Bruce understood this – but that was fine he still had one last move to make before the game ended for him. He just needed to decide who was going to die for that move.

Him or Superman.

While Bruce had planned to make the choice before Barry fully realized there was a choice at all, the game was not tipped in his favour. Barry was running out of ground to cover on his end and his lungs were finally beginning to voice their complaints along with his aching legs. He’d found nothing but hallways and doors, most of which he didn’t bother to try after his last experience with them. 

“Just…got to find the one…” Barry puffed, coming to rest against the hallway wall for a moment to catch his breath. While he braced himself against one of the many possible doors for a moment of rest, Barry felt something.

It was distant as first, almost too soft to really catch. It was akin to static brushing over the nape of his neck, drawing a shiver out of the man when he fully registered the sensation. The moment he really spotted it, Barry’s heart leapt into his throat. It was faint but he knew that electrical thrum – it was the speedforce.

He rarely felt it on the outside, brushing up against his flesh as it passed by him. It belonged inside his blood, coursing through him like a live wire, but right now it was simply in the air around him. Loose and easily slipping through his fingers. His speed was still impossible to reach out for and tap into, but somewhere the speedforce was thrumming away inside something.

Forgetting the soreness of his legs, Barry began to follow the feeling. It was a much slower process than he was quite ready to accept. A practice of almost feeling through the air, fingers outstretched as he sought out where the tingling sensation was at its strongest and like this Barry followed something like a path. It never once occurred to him that maybe the Crooked Man had set this up, some sort of diversion. This felt like it fell beyond his capabilities, not unlike the fragment of Lacie was beyond his control – or the whims of the replicas he made. The speedforce existed beyond his control and while he could remove it from Barry – he could no more control it than anyone else. 

Even speedsters were not in _control_ of the energy that fueled them. If they were not cautious it could swallow them whole, drag them right out of time and into the empty spaces in between. The speedforce at times appeared fickle and malicious to Barry, like any strong force of nature it was not worth trying to have dominion over it. It would take what it wanted regardless of human intervention. 

Right now Barry felt that what it wanted was him. It had taken him once, run through his entire body in a lightening bolt and given him his speed. The thought of being separated from it by force had been traumatic, but Barry had never really thought what the strange force would do without its vessel.

With all this running through his otherwise murky mind, Barry followed the faint path it had made for him. As it twisted and turned he began to feel as thought what he followed through the halls was less of a path and more a memory of the movement of the speedforce. Like someone had run through here with it trailing behind him or her – a speedster.

The path had ended just as Barry considered this; it had deposited him right in front of a door. It was unimpressive and unremarkable – just like all the others – but he knew without a doubt it was the one. This was where his trail had led him and Barry was now convinced a speedster waited on the other side.

One of CM’s replicas? Almost definitely. Had the Crooked Man really managed to make a speedster replica? The distant echo of solid stone crashing into the ground reminded Barry that he’d been able to replicate Superman – a speedster was hardly out of the question. 

Despite knowing this, Barry couldn’t stop here. There was only one way and it was forward. So with a deep breath Barry pressed his hand flat against the door and pushed. It was not latched shut and there wasn’t a hint of resistance, as it swung open without a sound. Not even the classic door squeak that he’d come to expect of all the Crooked Man’s gimmicks. He had probably been a horror movie fan at some point.

The room looked exactly the same as the one he’d found the fake Hal in back in the first stage. Bare, save for a few key essentials and knowing what he did now, Barry wondered if this room had once belonged to the Crooked Man. It looked depressing, lacked personality of any kid it hardly looked lived in at all. Barry refused to feel bad for CM at this point but…he did file the thought away for later, just in case.

Inside the room was dark, there was a light switch by the door but it hadn’t been flicked – the person inside had chosen to keep it off and Barry didn’t dare touch it yet. Deeper inside the room, where the light pouring in from the doorway didn’t quiet reach, Barry could just make out someone’s form sitting on the bed inside.

They person sat with their hands clasped firmly and their head bowed. Even from this distance Barry could see they were shaking. Not a human tremble, but a speedster’s tremor. The figure was vibrating faintly, their hands shaking the worst of all and for a moment Barry was at a loss. Part of him had expected an immediate attack but instead he found this. His heart clenched in anxiety – he would have welcomed an attack rather than risk another experience like what he’d gone through with the fake Len.

As the figure continued to shake, the speedforce obviously circulating through their body, Barry noticed small sparks occasionally flying from the speedsters clenched hands. As if they may take off running at any moment and were simply storing the lightening energy. That was fine; it wasn’t really a concern – at least until Barry noticed the particular colour of those sparks.

It was red. 

“Flash?” The person rasped and Barry flinched back instinctively. With the first step taken, Barry continued back another two – not that it would help should the man suddenly decide to move. The speedforce was in the air, in the speedster sitting in that room – but not with Barry. He hadn’t been without his speed when facing this man, not since he was just a child. He was afraid. 

“I know its you.” The speedster continued quietly, not a way of speaking that Barry associated with the murderer. “Even without the suit…I know you.” That comment drew Barry’s attention to the yellow suit he’d come to recognize on the man, be looked the part but he wasn’t quite acting it. Neither of them was in their correct skin to be facing one another. 

“Thawne.” The man’s head lifted a bit at his own name coming out of Barry’s mouth. It took a moment, but slowly the speedster began to shake his head, the motion becoming more frantic and furious with every passing second. Barry didn’t know what to make of this – nothing in these movements reminded him of Proffessor Zoom. But it was his voice Barry was hearing, the same red lightening he knew so well. 

“No. _No_! That’s not right.” Before Barry could properly wrap his brain around whatever hysteria had grabbed the man, Thawne moved. Barry hadn’t seen a speedster move when he was stuck at a human pace before, and he was beginning to understand why people were always so alarmed by his abrupt presence or movements.

One moment he was looking into the dark room, trying to size up the man inside, then there was a blur of red and yellow, then nothing but white hot pain racing up his spine. He didn’t feel the impact when his body collided with the wall opposite the room – just the pain – but what he did feel was cold fingers wrapping around his throat and dragging him up against that same wall. 

The sensation of having the air forcibly knocked from his lungs and then being denied the ability to draw in another gulp of air to fill his empty lungs left Barry squirming just on the edge of suffocation. It had all gone down in a matter of seconds and Barry hadn’t seen a single one of Thawne’s movements, only the end result of his pinned up position. 

“I am supposed to be the Flash!” Thawne was speaking, snarling at Barry with the occasional shake to emphasis his point. Very little of it was actually getting through to Barry, his head swimming with the possibility of a concussion and lack of oxygen to his brain. 

Of all the ways he could die – this one actually wasn’t that absurd. The Reverse Flash, or Professor Zoom – which ever he felt like being called on that day – had always made it pretty clear that he wanted to be the one to kill the Flash. Barry had always known that it was a possibility, more so than any one of Cold’s Rogues getting to him. They might be criminals that constantly gave him a run for his money, but Thawne seemed to exist on the sole purpose of ending Barry. That type of loathing was unparalleled.

As his head got fuzzy, beginning to go into a frenzy the longer air was not readily accessible, Barry could still distantly recall the argument he’d had with Noire before all of this. 

“ _What the hell would you know? You, perfect Barry – bloody – Allen!”_ The kid sounded mad in his memory – Barry would have laughed if his throat wasn’t currently being forced shut – Noire always sounded angry. “ _Everyone loves you, have you ever had someone hate you a day in your damn life?”_ His vision was blurring horribly but Barry could just make out the snarl on Thawne’s face, to him that looked like the perfect picture of hatred. If he’d been able to, he would have taken a picture to show Noire he knew exactly what it felt like.

It sort of felt like death right now.

Through the small contact Barry could feel the full force of the electrical feeling he’d followed here. It twisted against his skin and suffocated him more so than Thawne’s fingers around his throat seemed to. It felt wrong. The speedforce, even in Thawne had always felt alive and sharp – something wild. However this variation of it seemed to be sick in a sense, writhing and pulsating unevenly as if it were not in its correct form.

The roaring in his head was beginning to grow louder and the longer Barry went without air the closer he got to unconsciousness. But even with the darkness curling at the corners of his vision, Barry realized what was wrong with the speedforce here. This was a replica, not the Eobard that Barry knew – and more importantly it was a badly made knock off.

The Crooked Man had failed in this one, it was imperfect. 

Some of the fear faded knowing this was not the real Eobard Thawne, even with the fakes fingers choking the life from him, it somehow felt less gut wrenching when he knew it wasn’t the actual man that had killed his mother in front of him. That did nothing to console his screaming lungs or fading consciousness however. 

“But I…” Suddenly the pressure was easing off and a moment later the force that had held Barry to the wall was gone, leaving him to collapse to his hands and knees – gagging on the air he too hastily tried to draw into his chest.

While Barry gasped and coughed, letting his body do all it could to return to a normal breathing pattern, the fake Reverse Flash backed away from him. It wasn’t until Barry forced himself to look up that he noticed the replica was speaking rapidly under his breath. He was watching a man with a familiar face from his nightmares; practically fall apart in front of him. 

What had the Crooked Man gotten so wrong with this replica? It didn’t act much like the Thawne he knew. Besides the hand around his throat – which admittedly felt _very_ familiar – nothing else fit. It took a few haggard breaths before Barry’s brain was functioning enough to begin really hearing what Thawne was babbling about. Even then he didn’t find any sort of understanding in it.

“No, that’s not right either. I wanted to meet the Flash – I _liked_ the Flash.” Thawne’s voice was strange as well, not just the words he was spilling. Barry could see very clearly that he was vibrating again, muscles jerking every now and then as he blurred in and out of Barry’s sight. If Barry had to pick a word for this bizarre type of melt down, he’d say that the replica was glitching. 

“But I hate the Flash!” Eobard lamented, face held in his hands at the vibrating got worse. “I know I do…but I was the Flash wasn’t I? I was….I know I was! But I was also Eobard, and Zoom-- _gah_! I don’t know which it is!” 

With only the bruises he was going to definitely have after this and the lingering memory of Thawne’s fingers around his neck, Barry began to creep back up using the wall as a steady surface to help him. Thawne was having some sort of break down right in front of him and Barry decided that it was definitely more unsettling than if the replica had been a perfect imitation of the usual monster.

The Crooked Man had placed this replica here for a reason – as the challenge. But looking at the violently shuddering mess in front of him Barry didn’t find himself looking at a challenge. What was it CM expected him to do with…. _this_?

Then the fake was looking at him. Barry tensed under the stare, not entirely sure if he should expect another throttling or not. Still shaking violently, the Eobard look alike slowly turned his gaze towards the room they’d come out of, then back to Barry – some sort of calculation going on inside his head. 

“What…” He began, sounding unsteady even in his voice but no less determined. “What is it that given one, you’ll have either two or none?” 

When Barry just kept staring at the unhinged fake, he began to gesture angrily. As if the Flash’s stupidity was the most aggiating thing on the planet. “He gave it to me!” Thawne snarled, trying to get Barry to understand what he was trying to give him. “The words you needed, he gave them to me.”

Had Barry not been marveling at how incredibly fragmented and unstable this replica was it would have sunk in quicker what it was trying to give him. “The riddle.” Barry blurted when it finally dawned on him. “He told you the riddle.” Thawne nodded firmly in reply and Barry couldn’t help but think that this fake was broken enough to have given the riddle away by accident.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Not the most elegant way to phrase a question but straight to the point. “Why are you all…glitchy?” He asked with a rather vague sweeping gesture towards the entirety of Eobard.

The man laughed. The sound was actually close enough to the real Reverse Flash’s laugh that Barry recoiled a bit. “I’m from the twenty-fifth century.” Thawne said simply and when Barry didn’t immediately understand the man’s face twisted into a familiar sneer. “Pieces of me are missing. He can’t reach the future…so he can’t know everything there is to know. So now I’m…confused.” He concluded, the final word coming out miserably. 

“I hate you.” Eobad added harshly, fixing Barry with a sharp stare that was one hundred percent the man he knew. “I hate you so damn much. But at the same time I idolize you and then sometimes I _am_ you! Do you have any idea how confusing that is?”

“Really can’t say I do buddy.” Barry’s input was evidently not needed, because Thawne just went right on ahead with his ramblings as if Barry hadn’t said a word.

“Then there are black spots in my memories. I didn’t even exist until the first time I appeared in your backwater century.” Even with his flawed imitation, Thawne was still rude. “The only thing that seems to exist is _you_. Chasing you, ruining your life, watching how you grow up – everything revolves around the Flash.” There was a pause and Barry did try not to let himself be made too uncomfortable by the man’s comments about observing him. To an extent Barry knew that Thawne had been stalking him through timelines, through his whole childhood – just to see what ways he could make the scarlet speedster suffer. Hearing it out loud gave him no peace of mind. 

The replica seemed to be thinking about something carefully for a few seconds before he looked back at Barry with a curious expression on his face – not one Barry saw too often on Thawne. Though to be fair he was usually caught between psychopathic rage or superior smugness.

“Did any of it work, Flash?” He asked not quite amused but not far off it. “Is your life miserable? Your memories painful?”

“That is none of your business.” Barry snarled back. He was getting too caught up in the imitation. Bruce was still out there somewhere dealing with his own replica that was definitely trying to kill him. Barry had to find a way to save him – but he couldn’t take his eyes off the man that killed his mother. Fake or not.

“I suppose I’ll take that as a strong maybe.” Damn this smug prick.

Somewhere back in the direction Barry had come, there was a distant crash, like a large amount of stone had suddenly been smashed. The sound was far away but the ground under them gave a little tremor, which didn’t seem like a good sign to Barry.

Thawne looked less perturbed by the distant chaos and leisurely glanced in the direction it sourced from. The fake was still shuddering and glitching but he had settled a bit since having been able to reaffirm his existence – as flimsy as it was – through his own words. Barry was staring in dread down the same path that Thawne was and so he didn’t notice when the man’s red gaze slid back over his way.

He couldn’t remember many things about himself. What his favourite colour was, where he’d grown up, what his parent’s faces looked like – if he’d liked them or not. He was incomplete, and had so very little to go off – all he had was this boy sitting in front of him like a caged rat.

A large, vicious part of himself was pleased to see the wretched expression on his enemies face – and the rest? Well it was a little more reluctant to even look at Barry let alone feel joy at his misfortune. His enemy, his hero – a confused identity crisis – regardless of what it was, Thawne knew that this person, for the time being, had to keep existing. He’d cling to that when everything else was a chaotic mess of memories and timelines. 

Funny, he looked completely unremarkable. This was the kid that Thawne had based his life around? This terrified, ragged child was somehow of importance to him even centuries down the line, and somehow became known as this century’s fastest man? It all seemed rather ridiculous, but what would he know? He’d only been alive for a few hours at most, waiting in that dingy little room for something to come and let him out.

He was just some cog in another person’s plan. That didn’t sit well with him, any version of him.

“You’re supposed to kill me.” Eobard announced carelessly, savoring the way Barry jumped in alarm at the mere sound of his voice. Amongst the memories of adorning the red suit as the Flash and looking forward to meeting his hero – there were plenty of memories providing reasons to enjoy the Flash’s discomfort. The moron then had the senselessness to look horrified by Eobards rather simple statement. Hadn’t he realized this yet? 

Cocking a brow in the younger man’s direction, Eobard let his disdain play out on his face. It felt right, easy, like it was an expression he actively wore. “Did you not know?” Barry shuffled uneasily and Eobard was sure he must have had some idea of what he was meant to do. It seemed like he hadn’t quite wrapped his brain around the idea and had just acted without thinking through what the end goal was – typical. 

“You do know it would be easy for me to kill you right now instead.” He continued, rather enjoying the small flinches and reactions he got out of the boy. “Wouldn’t effect my timeline, I wouldn’t cease to exist – well no more than I will in a few minutes anyway.” Eobard approached the powerless Flash while speaking, closely observing how he pressed himself close to the wall as if it might give at the last moment and allow him escape.

He’d closed the distance between them and as Barry cringed away from him, Eobard’s hand began to vibrate. The recognition of what was to come played out on Barry’s face but he didn’t close his eyes, didn’t shy away from the sight of the Reverse Flash preparing to tear out his heart in one clean cut. Bravery was a quaint trait but it did him little good in this instant. “It would be easy.”

Barry’s jaw clenched as his hands balled into fists but he said nothing. He had nowhere to go, no speed to fight with – he was in the best position Eobard could have ever wished for, and yet…

“It’d be a moot point.” Eobard chuckled, lowering his hand much to Barry’s obvious surprise. “Even if I killed you now, it wouldn’t fulfill any of the real me’s wishes. Additionally, instead of just me, we’d both cease to exist and everything I worked for in your timeline would be erased. Besides,” Eobard sneered down at the Flash. “He’s no where near done with you just yet – still things left to do with you.” 

“Why you--!” Barry lunged forward like he planned on punching him but without his speed he was about as threatening as a lame kitten. Eobard easily shifted out of his attack range and behind him, a small shove and the Flash was left sprawled out over the ground in a less than flattering manner. Still the young man grit his teeth and snarled at him – Eobard was almost impressed. Among his mess of memories there were a select few that troubled him – one included an expression much like that on the Flashes face. 

As he broke another Reverse Flash’s neck.

Unpleasant, but an essential memory to hold onto. If one did not remember their mistakes they would surely happen again – a pity that his outer world counterpart would have none of the memories he was making right now. In fact the only person that would remember he even existed in this small space would likely be the Flash – for now that would have to appease him.

“Come on then.” Barry looked at him with a healthy amount of distrust as his life long nemesis offered him a hand up. “You can’t die here by some nobody’s doing. When you die, it will be because of me.” Barry still didn’t take his hand and Eobard laughed. “Well, maybe I won’t kill you – but there’s still things left to take from you, so hurry up and show me the Flash I know.”

“You don’t make a compelling argument.” The Flash grumbled irritably but reached out to take his hand all the same. For the briefest moment Eobard froze when the Flash took his hand. The smallest part of his memory screaming out that this was incredible – the Flash was going to work with him, acknowledge his existence – he promptly squished that smaller Eboard Thawne. If anything was to get done it had to get done with the Reverse Flash – not some fanboy from the twenty fifth century.

Despite his efforts, a small almost genuine smile had formed on his face as he pulled Barry back to his feet. Maybe it would be alright to indulge himself a touch, pretty soon he’d no longer exist – what harm could it do?

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me all about your nefarious plans then?” Barry asked once he was back upright, still giving Eobard that faintly furious look. The yellow speedster couldn’t help but think that expression was amusing more than it was intimidating.

“And ruin all the fun my future self will have? Not likely.” He did consider giving the Flash a hint here and there. Be it from lingering feelings of sentimental attachment from his younger self, or the need to gloat – he couldn’t say. But on the off chance it might hinder his other self somewhere in the main timeline, Eobard kept those thoughts to himself.

“Worth a shot.” Well, maybe he’d let something slip. Just to see the scarlet speedster squirm.

“Always the optimist.”

Another explosion, this time sounding a bit more like a proper explosion caught both the speedster’s attention. Sudden optimism seemed to be a fairly generous term. Judging the alien’s strength from his own limited knowledge, Thawne guessed that the bat wouldn’t last long. After a moment of careful consideration however, he adjusted his opinion on that matter. 

“My thoughts are influenced by the Crooked Man.” Eobard admitted dryly, the thought alone somewhat insulting. So little of what he currently was belonged to himself – it would be better if this wretched version of himself stopped existing soon, but not before ensuring the Flash returned to his own world safely. What an absurd situation, having to help the Flash. If his usual self could see them now he’d be livid.

That first calculation wasn’t his. Eobard remembered having observed the Flash’s allies from time to time. He’d seen what the Bat was truly made of and in turn decided exactly how a match with him and the kryptonian would play out in a number of different instances. In too many of those scenarios – the alien lost.

He had briefly entertained the idea of turning the man of steel against their team. An idea that others in this century had as well. Needless to say, after watching their poor performances Eobard decided against it. Better to keep the other heroes at an arms length. He was only here for Barry, better to stay out of the other’s hair where possible so as to avoid incurring their ire.

Regardless this told him he would need to tread carefully in his own head to not mistake the Crooked Man’s influence for his own true thoughts. 

“So why aren’t you trying to kill me?” Barry asked suspiciously and Eobard couldn’t push down the vicious smile that curled on his lips.

“If I were trying to kill you the Crooked Man’s will would have nothing to do with it.” Somehow Barry still managed to look shocked by him, even when he obviously knew Eobard’s distaste for him. Amusing as that was he knew that teasing the Flash would get them no where fast. “As it is however, he does not want you dead. He would much rather you kill me with your own two hands.”

“Why is that?” This time Eobard looked at Barry with surprise, more along the lines of disbelief and scorn than the scarlet speedsters expression had been.

“Because you’ll lose, clearly.” The idiot didn’t look completely enlightened by that comment and Eobard had to bite back the urge to groan. The Flash had proved himelf to be smart beyond his years and yet somehow he could still make that confused puppy expression better than anyone Eobard had ever encountered.

“Mr. Allen, when a hero kills someone do you know what that does?” He didn’t wait to watch Barry fumble for an answer. “First and foremost it erases their image as an icon of hope, of what the best of humanity could be. It destroys the idea that killing the problem can never be a solution. However, more important to your current predicament – it removes their title as a hero according to the Crooked Man’s rulebook. So use your head for a moment Flash and _think_. Why on earth would he put you in a position that forces you to kill me – a fake of the man you hate the most – or see a friend die?”

There was some semblance of understanding crawling onto the hero’s face and Eobard decided that would have to do for now. The echoes of a fight were growing increasingly distant, more muffled and drawn down to a lower scale of destruction. It was advantageous to have snippets of the Crooked Man’s consciousness interwoven into his existence, it helped him to know what the man’s intentions were.

The pathetic fool.

“Time is up, Flash.” He told the currently speedless hero dryly. He’d be too slow to get back in time, Eobard could help with that.

Perhaps when he shot forward to scoop Barry up in his arms, he should have done so with just a touch less enthusiasm and if Barry screamed out in alarm it was not his fault he grinned. It was habit, relics of one version of himself that refused to go away. 

The same part of him that thought Barry’s neck looked perfectly breakable currently. The other two sections of his mind furiously bit down that urge until it was hardly a threat. Among the three shard of personality he’d been given by the idiot that made him, Eobard managed to make a fourth variation and for now he acted as that hybrid personality.

He didn’t have the time to warn Barry anyway, he shouldn’t complain seeing as Eobard was depositing him exactly where he needed to be within a matter of seconds, rather than the minutes it would have taken Barry to get back to the glass barrier. Watching Barry squabble to get his bearings again once dropped in front of the wall was also mildly amusing, if not just a touch frustrating. He was a speedster, he should be able to recognize when he’d been moved by another – even if he was stuck at a human pace. 

On the other side of the glass was the Bat, looking very much like he needed a rest, and another fake in the form of Superman. The green glow on the ground had to be kryptonite, which explained why the fake currently had a bloody lip and nicely forming bruise on his cheek. Barry was just getting to his feet when it really sunk in for Eobard, he needn’t worry – the Bat was going to fulfill the challenge. Barry would pass onto the next round without any trouble.  
Barry did not seem to share this sentiment as he slammed a fist against the glass wall uselessly.

“What are you doing, Bruce?” He screamed, his voice probably reaching the two on the other side, though neither paid it any attention as their fight continued. “Bruce!” 

It didn’t concern Eobard either way, but Barry looked distraught. Continuing to hit the glass like it might actually give under his hands, Barry tried to shout to the black clad hero time and time again – each time being met with silence. The thought of Batman killing Superman must have bothered the Flash greatly, enough to prompt this display, or perhaps it was the knowledge that if Batman killed someone he’d ‘lose’ this game and the Crooked Man would win. 

Either way Barry looked frantic, so much so he forgot about Eobard by his back.

The Flash was distressed. Eobard thought idly, watching on mostly without emotion but the longer that thought circled his mind, the more his youngest mindset began to latch onto it. The Flash was upset, the person that helped him to feel hope when he was a child, the same man that he thought of a friend despite the centuries between them. His _friend_ was upset.

“Flash, the riddle I gave you?” Eobard prompted calmly, watching on in mild fascination as the pair on the other side of the glass attacked one another. Either of them could die without troubling him too much, but Barry was upset and so Eobard stepped in.

For a moment Barry just stared at him, eyes wild with panic but slowly it sank in for him. Then like a light bulb had been switched on in his head, the man began to shout anew – with different words spilling out of him.

“There’s always a choice!” Barry screamed and for the first time since he started to speak, the Bat responded. Not verbally but in his posture. A slight tense and pause in his body before he was forced to move aside from one of Superman’s punches. “You always have a choice, Bruce!” 

Faintly, Eobard smiled to himself, the riddle wasn’t a hard one but it was still pleasing to see the Flash figure it out when he actually tried.

For Bruce’s part, he’d much rather Barry hadn’t chosen those particular words to say while he was knuckle deep in a fist fight with the weakened kryptonian. He hadn’t been thinking while he and the fake exchanged blow after blow, he’d been acting on instinct alone – it hadn’t mattered which of them won provided Barry manage to pass onto the next level unharmed.

But there he stood, on the other side of the glass – shouting about choices while his own challenge stood idly behind him. Barry had already made his choice – he wasn’t going to kill his challenge.

Knowing this comforted Bruce to some degree, knowing that the Flash from his memory perfectly matched the boy on the other side of the wall. But it also meant that there was really no choice – no matter what Barry thought – Superman had to die. Should he survive, Barry would be left with the challenge and even if he never once laid a hand on the fake with intent to kill – he’d be trapped here forever.

Yes, there was a choice. Bruce had already decided on his.

There was a distinct thud as Superman’s back met with the ground. A single swift kick had swept Superman’s legs up from under him, followed by a palm slammed flat against his chest and the hulk of a man collided with the ground roughly. Superman’s face was already forming into a snarl when Bruce lunged at him again, not willing to let him get back up. The struggle between them was brief, even with his greater body mass, Superman didn’t know how to work himself without his powers there to give him an edge. Idiot should have listened to Bruce when he insisted the league train for situations where they had no powers.

It was mere seconds before Bruce had Superman’s wrists in his own, pinned down securely above his head. With both legs rested on either side of the trapped man’s torso – making kicking a bit more difficult for him. Seeming to realize how thoroughly pinned he was, Superman stopped his initial struggles to glare up at Bruce. Somewhere in their fighting, his suit had been further damaged, leaving one side of Bruce’s face fully exposed. When Superman actually took the time to look, Bruce knew he saw him flinch.

“Release me.” He snarled, still sounding very much like a Justice Lord as opposed to Clark Kent. Bruce disliked his and squeezed a bit tighter than he had to, he could almost feel the man’s bones grinding together under the pressure. If he broke Superman’s wrists now it would be a needless cruelty. “Gah! Damn it, Bruce! _Stop_!”

And for a moment he did. The grip eased off to simply being a way of grounding the superhuman but it no longer seemed painful. That plea sounded too close to a friend he once knew, Bruce tried not to let that disturb him. This wasn’t his friend, hadn’t been in years. He hadn’t meant to hesitate and it seemed that Superman noticed the small flinch as well – took it as a good sign. 

“We don’t have to do this, Bruce.” He urged, not struggling at all now that he had Bruce listening. Barry’s cries were more distant now, Bruce’s attention focusing into tunnel vision, not on Superman but on the little green stone laying a small distance away. Not even a full arm’s length from where they’d fallen. 

“Bruce?” He was reaching for the stone, almost without realizing it. Superman didn’t take long to catch on and his struggling began anew. For a moment Bruce struggled to keep his position, fighting to keep the larger man down. But when his fingers curled around the shard of kryptonite and dragged it closer – the struggling got weaker until it stopped completely when Bruce had the poisonous rock mere centimeters away from Superman’s face.

The alien replica cringed away from the light; it must have felt nauseating to be this close to the rock. Bruce saw no reason to drag this out – he had no interest in torturing Superman. But that did not make him move any faster than he already was and for a few seconds Bruce just stared down at Superman’s distressed expression. 

“You wouldn’t.” Superman sputtered frantically, taking quite the tone shift with Bruce. His eyes shifting between the kryptonite and Bruce’s impassive expression – whatever he saw in Bruce’s eyes was enough to push Superman into a more pleading tone. “Bruce, you wouldn’t!”

When he said nothing in return, Superman continued to panic. Forcing himself down onto the ground as if he might somehow be able to escape from the rock Bruce was holding. “ _Please_ Bruce. We…We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Bruce’s expression softened a bit, unable to ignore how those simple words felt like a punch in the gut. He looked at the man under him and tried not to see Clark, tried to see only Superman. Focus on the white on his uniform that just looked _wrong_ , pay close attention to the lack of humanity – see through the lie that was Clark’s face. It was difficult

“We are.”

Superman’s eyes lit up a little bit, clinging onto that answer with some hope. Then Bruce placed the shard of kryptonite over Superman’s heart and smiled. 

“It’s because we’re friends.”

As the kryptonite plunged into Superman’s chest, both he and Barry seemed to scream out at the same time. One in agony and the other simply trying to put a stop to things he had no control over. It was horribly easy to push the stone through the alien’s chest, it felt far weaker and smoother than human flesh meeting a knife and Bruce tried not to focus on just how _easy_ it was. He’d always held onto the mentality that one life could be justified but then after that you could just keep finding reasons to justify death. One, then two, eventually hundreds of lives became acceptable if you could only justify it to yourself. 

Superman had made that mistake and Bruce guessed it was his turn now. Or maybe not.

“Because we’re friends,” He promised quietly, past the agonized noises the fake was making. “I’ll come and visit you.” 

Without the strength left to properly fight, Bruce released Superman’s hands. The man immediately grabbed for his wrist, the grasp was weak and did nothing to console Bruce. Superman clung onto the hand that kept the kryptonite buried in his heart but he didn’t try to pull it away so much as once. Not a single tug, he simple held on. 

It would be foolishly sentimental to feel anything for the fake’s death but Bruce did. A draw back to being human was that even with the most pointless, ridiculous emotions, he still felt them. So as Superman’s breathing grew ragged and slower, Bruce reached out to hold his hand. He had not been expecting the small squeeze he got in return.

Surprised he looked back at Superman’s face and for the briefest moment he saw the man smile at him. Not Superman’s sneer, just Clark Kent’s small, gentle little smile. If Bruce had to give it a name he would have called it relieved. Long ago Clark had given him the kryptonite that was now buried in his chest, entrusted it to him so that if ever he got out of control – Bruce could be the one to end it.

Despite everything, it hurt. Bruce lowered his head until it rest against Clark’s chest, listening to his breathing slow and when he felt the man give his hand one more little squeeze with the last of his strength, no one could have faulted him for letting a single tear slip free.

That was three now. Three friends that left him with the memory of a smile, even if they may not have truly been real. It was enough. 

“I’ll see you soon, Clark.” He promised in a whisper and that was it.

 

…  
…

 

It was over.

Eobard saw the moment the other fake’s heart stopped. He felt no loss for his brother creation. The Superman fake had carried out its role far better than Eobard had – he was aware that his design was faulted. The Superman replica had been perfect – that was why it currently lay dead on the ground. Had Eobard been a perfect toy he to would have goaded the Flash in certain ways into killing him. It was so deeply wired into his programming that even now he had thoughts of threatening, mocking and promising the Flash all sorts of things that would have him break his neck again. 

All he really needed was a fake Iris to attack – but the Crooked Man couldn’t make that many fakes at a time. Fortunate for Eobard in hindsight.

Then there was movement on the other side of the wall. The Batman from another world slowly gathered himself to his feet, composing himself far better than Eobard expected should have been humanly possible. He took a moment just to look at Superman’s still body and Eobard couldn’t help but wonder what went through his head – nothing that he would understand most likely.

He’d never cared enough about someone to really mourn their death, or maybe he had and the Crooked Man just hadn’t been able to drag those memories over into the fake. But it was unlikely given all the other memories he had. It didn’t seem like he’d ever loved someone a day in his life outside of his Flahs obsession – which was hardly love.

Eventually the Batman turned to face them, taking brief note of Eobard before focusing on Barry who was still standing at the glass wall – trembling.

“This is where we part ways.” He said evenly, as if it were nothing more than an observation on the weather. “I imagine that from here I’ll go to the Crooked Man for judgment – you keep going forward, Barry.”

“Bruce…” The Flash’s voice sounded broken from all his screaming and even the simple uttering of the man’s name came out pathetically.

“Don’t.” Batman replied calmly. Eobard thought that maybe, _maybe_ it sounded comforting. Somewhere under all that cool indifference. Maybe. “This is fine.” 

Behind Batman their side of the world began to change. Brightening until it seemed to be nothing but empty whiteness. Batman turned to glance at what seemed to be the end of his own world and the final moments of the game he’d been participating in. There was little reaction beyond a faint upward twitch of his mouth – not nearly enough to be considered a smirk let alone a smile. Still it was more emotion than Eobard was accustomed to seeing on the Dark Knight’s face.

“Don’t worry.” He urged gently. “I have to head home anyway, someone had got to keep an eye on Gotham. You need to get back to your own world, back to your team. They need you.” Then much to Eobard’s shock, the Bat turned to glance at the pair over his shoulder and grinned. “As for me, I have a promise to keep.”

It was only a few seconds later that the massive wall of light met with Batman’s body and in an instant he was gone with everything else on that side of the wall. The fake’s body, the destroyed arena they’d fought in, all of it was gone in the blink of an eye. Nothing was left behind and Eobard knew that soon everything the Crooked Man had created would end the same was – in nothing.

Barry had stopped shouting, sinking to his knees in front of the still standing glass wall even though there was nothing on the other side anymore. Eobard felt the faint urge tugging him towards Barry, to offer comfort – that little voice he kept smothered most of the time still insisted the Flash was the only one that could ever be considered his friend.

The occasional heave of Barry’s shoulders told him that the younger man was crying. How many of the Crooked Man’s games had resulted in the Flash shedding tears? Was it really worth all of this just to get a hero at the end? The Flash was already a hero – no challenge the Crooked Man could set would change that.

Most infuriating was the fact that even with the riddle answered correctly, Barry had gained nothing. Eobard knew the riddle was designed to hurt rather than help, the Crooked Man was still bitter over whatever had upset him in the previous round. If Eobard really focused, shifted through the mess of memories that were mostly his, he could almost find the Crooked Man’s memories of the previous stage. The Crooked Man had been rifling around in his head, Eobard had simply returned the favour.

When he found it, he almost laughed. Of course he’d be hiding from his own humanity, Eobard found it horrible amusing and perhaps a little ironic that the Crooked Man handled his conscience worse than Eobard’s real world counterpart did. The coward was hiding away and is manifested into the form of a murdered girl – how pathetic.

“It’s over, Flash.” Barry had to keep going now and Eobard knew that he would. That was just what the Flash did. “You can’t help them now.”

“Did I ever help them?” Eobard very nearly recoiled at the tone the Flash spoke with. Among his many memories, that voice didn’t immediately stick out to him in any of them. Was that…hopelessness? 

Even when Eobard had mocked Barry with the murder of his mother, the childhood misfortunes and tragedies – he’d never adopted that tone. Anger and sorrow, sure but actual crushing hopelessness was a new one. The one he had been looking for? 

It gave him no satisfaction now. He hadn’t given Barry reasons to speak that way, it hadn’t been his work that forced the speedster to that level of bleakness – it was his by _right_. The Crooked Man couldn’t have that accomplishment – Eobard wouldn’t let him.

“You listen here, Flash.” Eobard reached for the Flash’s shoulder, intending to shake some sense into him. What he’d seen was simply another world Batman killing a fake Superman – it meant _nothing_! No matter what Barry’s heart said, it wasn’t real.

Just as his fingers brushed against the material of Barry’s shirt, the ground shifted violently. Eobard, in an attempt to keep his footing stumbled back a touch, unintentionally putting distance between him and the Flash. The ground tremors only got worse and in the back of his head, where the instincts he had thanks to being made by the Crooked Man, Eobard realized this meant that the stage was ending – it was over.

His existence was coming to an end.

Jerking back into motion, Eobard tried to run away from the collapsing slabs of concrete under his feet, only to find that not only did his speed not come to his aid – but his feet hard budged. He was being anchored in place by an unseen force, he did not need to ask to know it was the Crooked Man’s doing. He was no longer needed – just another item to break away with the rest of the stage. 

Gripped with an overwhelming sense of panic, Eobard again reached for the Flash – more urgently this time. “Barry!” His shout did draw the Flash’s attention, the man having not shifted an inch from where he sat hand pressed against the wall. But when he looked over his shoulder to see Eobard caught in what seemed to be a large section of collapsing ground, he came alive again.

Without a word, Barry lunged to his feet and rushed for Eobard. It took a second before he realized that Barry was trying to help him. The _Flash_ was trying to save him. That was a new feeling, a new memory the real him would never have. A pity – it was a rather bizarre one to have. 

For a terrifying second Eobard thought that the Flash would be too slow in this human form, but just as the ground under his feet gave away and he began to fall, Barry caught his outstretched hand. He felt the moment Barry really felt his weight and struggled to keep a firm grip on his hand but amazingly they did not both fall into the void. Instead Barry managed to hold onto him and remain on a firm surface – keeping them both safe for a moment.

“ _Hm_.” Eobard tensed when he heard the Crooked Man’s void humming from within the emptiness below him. “ _Looks like there’s a fault in your design_.” He commented, as if the other fakes would simply let their lives be snatched away from them without trying to escape. Even if it was futile, he had to try. 

“CM!” Barry ground out and Eobard was currently in no position to berate him for calling the Crooked Man so childishly. “Stop pulling him down! Let him go, damn it!”

It was only when Barry commented on it that Eobard felt a distinct downward pull that had nothing to do with gravity. It felt as it there were a set of firm hands around his ankles, dragging him down and for all the effort Barry put into holding him up, they managed to tug down twice as hard. Only then did Eobard properly realize how pointless it was to fight, even if he escaped then what? As soon as the Crooked Man’s world ceased to exist he’d have no where to go. It was unlikely he was made of real flesh and blood – if he tried to exist in the human world more likely than not he’d just fade out of existence as nothing more than a fleeting memory. 

“ _You’re part of a game, you’re not a human being_.” The Crooked Man commented, as if he was picking through Eobard’s thoughts. Which was not impossible all things considered. “ _Even if you were, you’d not be worth saving. I’ve watched you, seen what you do out there. It’d be better if you did not exist.”_

Barry was struggling to hold onto him, using both hands to try and fight against the force pulling Eobard down. His expression was a terrible mix of concentration and desperation, it was obvious he was fighting a losing battle. 

“ _I’ve watched you watch him_.” Crooked Man continued, lowering his voice to a hiss and Eobard was sure that only he could hear it. “ _Seen you creep into the house at night like a nightmare – stand over their bed while they sleep and wrap your hands around their neck. Just for a moment – you monster_.”

That memory he definitely had. Eobard remembered doing those things but it hardly felt like it was him doing it. He had never done anything outside of the Crooked Man’s game – it wasn't _him_! He didn’t kill Barry’s mother, it wasn’t his hands that wrapped around Noire’s throat in the dead of night – he wasn’t that man.

He wasn’t even the boy that idolized the Flash and wanted to meet him so badly he’d chase him through time just to catch a glimpse of the man that gave him hope. He hadn’t lived long enough to really discover what he was – he had only been born today for Pete’s sake! Having the memories of a killer and a fanboy didn’t make him responsible for their sins.

But none of that mattered now, he wouldn’t be anyone soon and there’d be nothing left of him.

“Flash.” Barry jerked his head up to look at Eobard, still struggling to keep ahold of him. “Do me a favour. Not as Eobard Thawne, or Professor Zoom – just as the replica you found in that little room not even an hour ago. Just remember that I existed for a little bit, understand?”

“N-No!” Barry grit out, digging his fingers into Eobard’s wrist. “I can…I can still get you out of here. I can save you!” 

And Eobard smiled, almost laughing. At least when he stopped existing he would not have to feel anything – Barry would live with this forever. He couldn’t even summon up enough of the parts of him that hated Barry to find that satisfying.

“Not this one, Barry.” He said quietly, letting his fingers loosen a bit as more pairs of invisible hands grabbed onto his legs. He’d be gone soon. “You can’t save everyone, Flash. But keep trying, that’s what makes you so damn infuriating. Don’t give up just yet. You’ll still save someone.”

He saw it in Barry’s unmasked eyes – he knew that it was over and it almost hurt to see that expression.

The moment his hand slipped from Barry’s grasp, Eobard felt his chest seize up violently with a momentary fit of panic. But as he started to fall, without the need for those tugging hands and saw the only world he’d known for his short life, it was easy to feel calm. Perhaps this is what the other fake felt when they died, but more likely this is what it had felt like for that other Batman. Knowing that even if he died or stopped existing, that he was leaving Barry behind with the memory of his life.

Knowing that the Flash was going to keep moving forward was enough for him and so when Eobard felt the empty space gathering around his back, he let his eyes slide shut and smiled to himself. It was worth everything just to know that Barry would make his way to the Crooked Man eventually.

When it was all over, the ground completely gone and Barry left to drop into the final challenge, the worst part of it all was the fact that Barry was now alone.

With nothing but his regrets and memories to keep him company.

 


	12. Crooked Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: If you are 100% not interested in Crooked Man or the Monochrome boys, or why most of this happened, feel free to skip the entire section between ***’s. You can pick up with Bruce again at the end. I don’t really advise this but some people might really, really not want to know.

They’d been sitting out front of Barry’s house for what felt like an hour now. Noire didn’t want to utter a single word on the off chance it might get Batman glowering at him again. However it was becoming increasingly difficult to simply sit there while the grown ups did their job. At first Noire had been eager to help, trying to find ways that maybe he could assist but the very second he got near the door, Batman had blocked him off. Proceeding to give him a very short and painful lecture about the last time he’d touched this door and how it had ended for him. 

So there he sat, on the curb waiting for Gl’s ring to come up with anything useful while scanning the house. Batman had vanished a number of times, what he was doing and how he managed to simply drop off the face of the planet when he stepped into the shadows was a trick that still unnerved Noire to this day. 

Tired, and beyond fed up, Noire kept his mouth firmly shut and his eyes on the ground between his feet. Small ants were scuttling around looking for food and Noire found himself feeling almost envious. When was the last time an ant had a fight with their foster parent that resulted in a magically sealed house and unexplainable trips to the cemetery? When was the last time that happened to an _ant_? Instead they looked for food and tried not to get eaten by larger animals. That seemed simple. 

“At least I don’t have to serve a queen.” Noire conceded while reaching down to gently probe one of the ants. It didn’t seem to enjoy that very much, so he stopped it and instead let the ant crawl over his finger at its own pace.

The ant was just seeming to become comfortable with roaming Noire’s hand when suddenly Jordan landed by his side, causing Noire to yelp in alarm and accidentally knock the little guy off his finger. Caught between snarling at Lantern and checking he hadn’t accidentally killed the little critter, Noire must have looked rather ridiculous. 

He tried to play this off by asking in his most serious tone. “Find anything?” It wasn’t nearly as impressive as Batman’s serious tone.

“The ring knows everything about the galaxy, it knows what the Guardians know.” Noire didn’t bother to tell him that had been proven wrong a number of times. “But it doesn’t exactly cover magic bullshit.” 

“Magic?” Noire asked, looking back at the house that had been his home for some time now. It looked incredibly unremarkable, not like what he expected an enchanted house to look like. 

“Lantern is correct.” Noire jumped a second time when Batman appeared seemingly out of no where, thankfully this time he had no ant friend to drop. “It would explain why there was a reaction to your magic but not when you touched the door.”

Now the three of them were staring at the house with matching grim expressions. By now there was no doubt that Barry was inside, but it felt like they were missing crucial details. Noire had to see for himself. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Batman asked when Noire took his first step towards the house. How one man could sound so condescending with so few words was beyond Noire’s understanding.

“I’m not going to hit it with my magic!” Noire defended himself angrily. “I just want to see, maybe I can find something?”

Hal snorted, no doubt finding it funny that Noire thought he’d magically find something that he and Batman had missed. Noire had to admit it was a long shot, but what would they know about magic? Hal treated his ring like it was science most of the time and Batman mostly kept away from magic. Noire was made out of the stuff – he might not have textbook knowledge on the stuff but if anyone here was going to notice something magical, it ought to be him right? That was how he justified it anyway.

While he approached the house, taking his turn peeking around the windows and sides as if something obvious might give him an answer, Hal and Bruce merely observed. Neither would have put it past the kid to lash out with his magic despite having said that wasn’t his intention. Noire wasn’t the smartest nor the most levelheaded kid on the block. He was certainly no Robin. 

“Seriously nothing Spooky?” Hal asked, turning to look at Batman’s stoic form. “Aren’t you a detective or something?” Batman didn’t even bother to glare at GL, instead he opted to keep his eyes on Noire’s figure. Just in case. 

Huffing in annoyance, Hal looked back at the supposedly magic house. It looked like he’d always seen it, Barry held BBQ’s here for Pete’s sake – it was hardly a haunted house. Well it had been housing a demon since the kid moved in but other than that it was fine. Just thinking about how Noire would lurk behind walls and doors when he was smaller still unnerved Hal.

He used to just stare at people with those huge red eyes of his. Something out of a horror film where all the children were possessed and worshipped haunted vegetables of some kind. It wasn’t much better when he got brave enough to start talking – the kid never had a cute phase. Jumped straight from creepy to cranky.

Still, it wasn’t as if Hal hated the little brat. He really wished that Noire would stop biting and hissing at him every time they were in the same room. It was difficult to see any of his mother in him most of the time. He could have inherited at least some of her chill.

“Huh.” The kids small exclamation of surprise seemed to cut through the silence like a knife and Hal felt his heart jump in alarm. Had he really found something. Then much to his genuine relief, Noire turned to look back at them with a beaming grin – it made him look much more his age to not be snarling for once. “I found something!” He exclaimed, positively thrilled that he could be of assitence. 

“No way.” Hal dismissed, floating over to Noire’s side just in case. “There’s no way you really…” He didn’t get to finish that sentence as Noire stubbornly pointed at the door. Hal didn’t see anything and he thought maybe Noire was pulling his leg – wouldn’t be unusual but with Barry missing it was unlikely Noire would be kidding around.

As if he was just indulging the child, Hal scanned his ring over the area he was furiously gesturing to. Really he shouldn’t have been surprised when the ring let out a shrill alarm, it had found something and after a few seconds of analyzing what it found, his ring announced it would give a visual. What it showed him was nothing more than a green outline of whatever Noire’s eyes were seeing. A small circular symbol that did not fit any he recognized.

It looked rather nonthreatening in all honesty, just a little oval with some black shape inked into it. But it was the thing that should not be here and Noire seemed to think it was new. 

“So what is it?” Hal asked bluntly and some of Noire’s victorious smirk dried up. So he didn’t recognize it either.

“It’s Dame-Dame.” Bats had gotten there awful fast and silent, as usual and Hal did his best not to jump. Noire didn’t have much success and visibly flinched, giving the Bat plenty of space as he shied away from the older man. He was probably still sulking about their previous chat. Batman seemed unperturbed by Noire’s nervousness.

“What-what?” Hal glanced back at Batman with a frown. Did the man just know everything?

“Dame-Dame. It means board game – more accurately a checkerboard game. Although it’s a bit…modernized.”

“Okay, that’s great and all but – what is it doing on Barry’s door?”

Batman paused looking at the symbol that was only now visible under Hal’s ring. The silence stretched on a touch too long and Hal was beginning to think that maybe for once Batman did not have an answer. Then like some sort of switch had been flicked he moved. Some sort of understanding had dawned on Bruce and Hal was still clueless – it felt very much like he was being left out of a conversation.

“Black.” The boy at least didn’t flinch this time. “You’ve never seen this symbol before?”

“No, it's the first time I’ve seen it. Well I…” Noire hesitated, hands wringing together anxiously as he thought about what the symbol meant. “It might look a little familiar. But I can’t place it.” 

Batman’s mask did little to hide the firm way his jaw set. There was another lengthy pause while both Batman and Black seemed to be thinking something over and Hal was left wondering what it was he was missing. So maybe he didn't recognize some obscure symbol right off the bat, but Noire didn’t know it either – so why were they both so miserably silent.

“Lantern.” Batman suddenly called his attention away from his almost sulking. “With me for a moment. Black, don’t touch _anything_.”

And like a child, Noire pouted. Bruce then grasped Hal’s upper arm, despite the ace pilots protests, and dragged him out of ear shot. It was about then that Hal realized that Batman had done that incredible thing he did and figured something impossible out without anyone else realizing. Whatever it was, it wasn’t to be said in front of the kid. 

That alone was almost enough to give Hal a heads up. 

“The person that did this is supposedly dead.” 

Almost enough. He felt like he didn’t get nearly enough pay for this gig sometimes. 

“Supposedly?” 

From there he had to listen to Batman pitch his rather insane sounding idea and somehow twist it to seem perfectly plausible. He did that a lot. While Hal listened to Batman explain very slowly and firmly that he suspected a man that went by the title of ‘Crooked Man’ was behind this, or at least someone playing copy cat, he failed to notice Noire was staring at the place on the door where the symbol was. Apparently his creepy red eyes could see the magic symbol without Hal’s ring and he was currently scrutinizing it closely.

No one could call the kid a genius but Hal dared not call him an idiot either. Even if only because he liked his skin too much to risk Noire trying to flail it with his shadows. At the same time that Hal was being clued in to who the Crooked Man was or had been, what he meant to the Harlow boys, what he meant to him, Noire was putting a symbol to a memory.

“A board game…” Noire mumbled under his breath, sorely tempted to reach out and touch the symbol that – to his eyes at least – seemed to glimmer just slightly in the dim lighting. Its familiar shape was driving him up the wall, he knew he’d seen it somewhere before but Noire just couldn’t seem to place it. 

It was unlikely that his close inspection actually helped Noire to remember a thing about the symbol, but as he stood there, sorting through memories in search of a fleeting glance of something even remotely similar – it finally came back to him. 

“A game.” It came back in dust and tears. Along with the echo of a smile he’d seen as a child and a gun. 

All at once Noire remembered and recoiled from the door as though it were something that burned him with its mere presence. He didn’t remember screaming, but he must have because suddenly both the Green Lantern and Bat were flanking him. Voicing some kind of question or concern that didn’t properly register in Noire’s head. Everything was getting lost in the chaotic buzz of memories. 

He’d never forgotten entirely. It was not the sort of memory that he could easily discard but it had been pushed down deep. He’d tried not to think about that day anymore, tried to let Barry’s presence and comfort fill him with thoughts of the future as opposed to looking back. Of course such a small detail like the mad ramblings of the monster he remembered could be forgotten and the small flash of an obscure symbol didn’t stick in his mind.

It wasn’t his fault. Barry had told him that countless times. Reassured him that no matter what he’d done, there were just some things that couldn’t be helped. The fault lay with the criminal that had kidnapped a bunch of orphaned children for some sick game. The fault had been with the man that decided to kill himself rather than face the consequences of what he’d done. 

They’d promised him time and time again – it wasn’t his fault.

But Noire didn’t feel that. He’d said he understood, nodded when they asked if he was okay – done all he could just to stop those people from looking at him with such sad eyes. But ultimately their efforts were wasted on him, because they hadn’t been there – they hadn’t made the choices he’d made. Hadn’t heard what he’d heard.  


…  
***  


The term kidnap had not meant anything to Noire the first time he’d heard it, holding his little brother’s hand as they stood out-front of their home that for some reason was being covered by yellow looking strips of plastic. 

The human adult that saw the two boys approaching the children’s home had rushed to them, asking all sorts of questions about where they lived and if they knew where the other children were. Alois had clung tighter to his side, shying away from the human and Noire would have liked to do the same but the adult kept asking them things and looking like he was expecting them to speak in return. 

Noire wished his mother was there, she was good at talking to the humans. They seemed to like her and the gentle way she spoke, Noire thought that it made them want to protect her like she protected them. Because she spoke quietly and smiled gently, they seemed to think there was something wrong with her – something they could help with. How odd humans were. 

While he was still trying to remember how to speak to adult humans, his little brother gave a small tug on his sleeve. Confused Noire had glanced down at Alois, only to see his fair brother pointing past the human in the bulky clothes and the yellow plastic with words on it, to their house. It looked wrong. The door, the thing that his mother locked each night for some reason, looked wrong. It was cracked and splintering in places, like something had busted it down. 

It was slightly ajar and Noire could just see inside, there was something shiny on the floor. The stuff that pictures were placed behind, the sharp stuff that their mother cautioned them about touching. It could hurt one of the children, Noire knew this and tried to tell the adult as such. The man’s face had pinched in a painful way that made Noire think he might be sad about something. Their mother taught them about emotions on human faces, encouraged them to mimic those expressions when they themselves felt certain ways. It all felt very clunky and unnatural at first. Noire didn’t like smiles very much, he always showed too much teeth and felt silly. But over time he noticed that sometimes when he was happy, he’d smile without teeth – Alois was always sure to tell him, ask how he did it and together they learnt what a real smile looked like. 

The adults weren’t smiling. None of them, instead they all had that same ugly, distressed expression. Mother never wore that one, and tried to cheer up the children when they had it. But adults wore it the most often, Noire hoped he wouldn’t make that one when he grew older.

Then the humans wanted to take them away. Away from the house where their mother should be but for some reason wasn’t. The man said that their family had been ‘kidnapped’, whatever that meant. It had kid in the name, the little ones were called kids sometimes and Noire liked them. So how bad could kidnap be? Noire didn’t like that they were apart from their family or that they'd been left out of this kidnapping business. Alois didn’t seem to like it either, so they’d run away. The adults shouted after them, saying it wasn’t safe.

How silly, their mother would never do anything unsafe for the little ones. The adults went ignored.

“Where do you think mother is?” Alois asked after they’d lost the human adults down a dark alleyway. Gotham was such a pretty city, full of looming building and dark corners. Alois liked it more than Noire did but losing humans in the shadows was something Noire was very good at, although Lacie discouraged it most of the time. However she also encouraged Noire to learn how to walk on the ground but he continued to float a few centimetres above it, just so he didn't trip anymore. His brother's hand helped to steady him.

“With the others.” Noire answered simply as he lead his little brother by the hand through the backstreets. The grime and hostile glances form the shadows didn’t bother Noire, it never occurred to him that humans would do nasty things. Lacie liked them very much, so Noire figured they must be all good. Even if the adults sometimes asked them to do silly things, like not look for their kidnapped family. 

“Brother, look.” Alois pointed to the ground and Noire noticed a faint lingering colour. Like a trail of rainbow dust, their mother sometimes said that they could follow rainbows back to her if they ever needed. Said it was a special sort of magic, that lead lost children back home. Noire had never seen it before, but their family had never not been where he knew they should be before. Lacie never lied, so Noire followed the trail, urging Alois to follow after him. 

The path led them through Gotham for a long time and neither spoke. Words were important according to humans but Noire and Alois had only just learnt to use them properly and it was exhausting. So instead they just kept their hands linked and spoke with actions to one another. Where their hands links Noire noticed Alois’s light softened and his shadows became less prominent. He thought it was nice that they turned to a gentle grey when touching.

It took too many minutes in Noire’s mind but he wasn’t sure how many of those minutes made how many hours. Alois probably did, he was better at time than Noire was but he didn’t ask. It didn’t matter – the rainbow dust was getting brighter and they took that as a good sign. Except it had taken them to a place they’d never seen before. Noire wasn’t sure exactly what humans thought a good building for kidnapping was but the one the path led them to didn’t look impressive.

The walls looked like they were crumbling here and there and – now Noire didn’t want to be rude to the humans – but it looked like no one had cleaned it in years. Their nest tended to get messy and broken with so many little ones around, but they always fixed it right back up – who looked after this nest? 

Alois seemed to think the same and Noire heard him snort – definitely a rude sound and Noire had half a mind to chide him for it. Except he made a good point and Lacie wasn’t here to remind them of their manners, so he let his brother disapprove of the human nest’s poor state. Humans should take care of their nest, especially if they were going to bring their family over for a kidnap.

Ignoring how breakable parts of the building looked, the two brothers went inside. There was no door to knock on and no body inside the first, big empty room to greet them. A quick glance between the brother and a silent agreement was made to look at the tops of this strange nest. It felt abandoned but Noire could hear shuffling above them in the higher floors. He and his brother lived at the highest point of their nest, Alois seemed to dislike the height of it but Noire thought it was a good vantage point – perhaps these humans thought the same and wanted to show their family the best part of their nest.

Their nest was not very good.

As Noire and Alois crept up the steps, ignoring the squeaks and creaks as they went – the shuffling of feet got louder. They were at the fifth level of the strange building when the echoes of distant movement began to give way to voices. This particular nest was very empty and hollow – what few sounds there were traveled long distances. Back home there was always movement, the little ones never stopped making noise and it was a lot smaller and warmer. Noire didn’t like this nest very much, it felt very dead and cold inside. 

When his body shivered, that strange little shudder it did when he was cold, Alois reached out to touch his bare shoulders. Alois had such warm hands, it helped a bit. Noire wanted to give his brother a smile, to show it helped and that he was grateful but when he glanced back to so as such, Alois already managed to a smile of his own. His little brother was very good at picking up emotive expressions. His little brother was so cool.

Satisfied that they understood one another without words, the pair continued on. Noire hadn’t wondered what he’d say to the humans when he found them. He wasn’t particularly upset about not being kidnapped along with the rest of their family, Lacie had asked them to go on an errand for her – it must have just been bad timing. Surely they hadn’t meant to be left out.

It was when they reached the sixth floor that Noire could properly make out the voices and honestly for a few seconds he was stumped. The tones, the words, all of it was off. Didn’t match any human emotion or expression Lacie had actively taught them.

Alois shared his confusion and when Noire tried to go to the next step, his brother’s form stayed firmly put. Jerked back by the sudden unwillingness of his brother and anchoring hand, Noire glanced at his brother to try and gauge his reasoning. Alois’s expression was fairly blank but Noire thought he saw something a bit too firm there.

Alois didn’t speak but Noire knew – wait and listen and learn. Think then act.

A simple set of rules of observation to follow. The same rules they followed when Lacie had a lesson for them. So Noire stood there in the middle of the stairs and listened to the humans above.

“He’s paying us a bucket.” Someone was saying. Their voice was coarse and unpleasant but Noire knew he shouldn’t think that. It was unkind. Which seemed odd, seeing as he was being given a bucket by someone - he ought to be happy for the new toy.

“Yeah, but kidnapping a bunch of kids?” Another weighed in. “It’s a bit fucked up, even for Gotham.”

“He said he ain’t gunna hurt any of them. Wants to make a point or something. I don’t know – none of my business. All I know is that this is paying for my drinks for the next month.”

“Thought you might actually pay your rent first.” It sounded like someone got hit after that. “Jeez, chill out, Joe. I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, well don’t.” The first snarled back. “How long are we going to wait here for anyway? What did rich boy say we were meant to do?”

“Well he told us to wait for two kids to show up, but…”

The human sounded uneasy, like he thought that wasn’t going to happen but Noire brightened. They were two children, the kidnappers must have realized they missed them and were waiting for them to show up. That was enough to convince Noire it was okay to keep moving but Alois remained firmly rooted in place. Confused by his brother’s refusal to move, Norie tried to feel what was going on in Alois’s head. They’d been one entity once, it was easy to access the other’s thoughts when they were welcome.

‘What is it?’ Noire tried to ask and Alois frowned. An expression that Noire didn’t see his brother make often. This may have been the second time he’d ever seen it.

‘Not right.’ Alois responded, staring at Noire as if he was trying to pass something to him without words or thoughts. Something more. ‘These humans, they’re not right. Something is not right.’

Now he didn’t know his brother to be wrong about many things when he put his mind to it, but Noire wasn’t sure what to make of this. But if Alois thought something was wrong, perhaps it would be a good idea to listen to him.

‘What do you want?’ Noire asked, willing to follow whatever it was Alois decided was the correct course of action. 

There was a brief silence in Noire’s head where Alois debated what he would do. Then finally his brother’s face set in a hard way that Noire knew he hadn’t picked up from Laice. Where did Alois learn that expression?

‘Find the rich boy and ask.’ He paused, changed his mind. ‘ _Demand_ everyone come home. Visit over.’

Noire didn’t mind really, despite the strangely aggressive tone his brother set. He didn’t feel like socializing with the humans that lived in such a depressing nest. Surely Lacie would understand and they’d all head home. Noire agreed without a second thought and only then did Alois’s legs unlock and the pair walked to the top of the stairs. The very second they appeared on the sixth floor, the two humans that had been talking spotted them. 

They pointed shiny metal at them, seeming surprised to see them. He didn’t recognize what they were holding until Alois hissed at his side, his mind supplying the information to Noire's. The things were called guns and they hurt humans. They probably shouldn’t be holding those if they could hurt humans. 

Noire didn’t think anything of it as he knocked the guns from their hands, the black whip he’d formed from their shadows easily pulling the dangerous things away from them.  
He remembered too late that Lacie told him not to use his extra hands around other humans. It could scare them apparently. The expressions on their faces were rather distressed and so Noire made a smile for them. To try and help calm them, Lacie said smiles helped when people were upset.

“Hello.” He chimed because Alois didn’t seem like he wanted to speak from where he clung to Noire's side. 

“What the…?” One of the humans sputtered. Noire thought he sounded like the second voice from earlier. He didn’t sound very calm. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

"I-I don't know either man. Hello...?" The other human tried after a beat of silence, looking just as lost as his companion. 

“We’re looking for Rich Boy?” Noire said, to try and help the process along. Humans sometimes got so distracted, it took forever to do anything. 

The pair looked between one another in alarm. Their faces had turned awful pale after Noire took the dangerous things away from them. But if they could hurt humans then they shouldn’t hold them – they had to be careful just like the little ones couldn’t touch the fire. No matter how pretty it was. 

“Well I mean…they’re kids?” One of them eventually managed to say. It seemed to be enough for them and Noire made another smile when they gestured to the door at the end of the room. Noire didn’t hesitate to take Alois and himself over to it, ignoring the way the two humans stared at them as they passed. 

Noire had to stand on his tippy toes to reach the door’s handle but the moment he pressed his hand against it, the thing swung open. He guessed it must have been broken as well. Undeterred by this Noire entered the room with his brother in tow, from there everything moved very quickly. 

He saw their mother, standing in front of their little ones, facing a stranger at the end of the room. Lacie must have heard the door open because she whipped around to look at the pair of them and just as Noire felt a real smile forming on his face, he noticed the expression she was wearing. It was gut wrenching, she looked terrified and behind her the stranger grinned.

A human had their mother upset, made her wear an ugly expression. Noire didn’t like this one bit. He acted without thinking, dragging up his own shadow to throw it at the stranger, to make him back away from their mother. By his side, Alois let out a cry, it sounded like something meant to stop Noire from acting rashly but he didn’t pay it any mind.

The human was alarmingly fast and Noire’s strike missed by a large stretch as he easily side stepped away, the wall that had been behind him did not fair as well. It immediately caved under Noire’s attack, exposing the nest to the open air of the evening sky. Human emotions still stumped Noire and when the stranger laughed in absolute delight, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He was still reeling from his own emotional outburst as it was. 

Alois’s hand was still in his own and Noire had placed himself protectively in front of his little brother even as he threw the attack. But now they were becoming aware of just how bad this really was. Their little ones weren’t just sitting patiently on the ground; someone had wrapped them up in rope and covered their mouths with some sort of sticky black paper. 

Their mother was still standing in front of them but her body wasn’t like theirs, it could break more easily than the little ones. They had to protect their family. Alois felt this through their link and immediately let go of his big brother’s hand to rush to his family’s side while Noire stayed focused on the stranger that still wore a smile. It didn’t look like any smile Noire had ever seen, it looked twisted and wrong. 

“I hope I didn’t scare you too much.” The stranger said, his voice was high and airy as if he was jittery with either excitement or fear. “I was waiting for you two.”

He sounded happy to see them, his words and actions didn’t match the scene and Noire wasn’t sure what to do. So there he stood, crouched and waiting for any sign that the human meant to harm someone. 

“I heard about your abilities but…I never expected it to be so obvious. Black and white, polar opposites. It’s incredible, I knew that white would come for the children but I didn’t expect you to come as well.” He looked at Alois when he spoke and Noire bristled furiously. Didn’t want this human looking at his brother. 

“I really didn’t expect _you_ …” The stranger paused, looking at Noire with sharp eyes. “Shall we play a game then?”

Noire tensed as the human flicked his wrist, a card flashing between his fingers as he held up a symbol. It was a circle and Noire didn’t recognize it from any of the math problems he liked to play with back home. It meant nothing to him, but he knew what games were. They were fun, to be played with friends – perhaps this human meant to apologize for his bullying by offering a game?

It didn’t feel like that’s what he wanted to do.

“You want…to play with me?” Noire asked slowly, he liked games but he wasn’t sure if he could trust this man to play fair.

“I do.” He confirmed happily.

“Here are the rules, be a hero.” He made that smile again, the not right one. Noire didn’t have a word for what was wrong with it. “Do you know what a hero is, Black? A hero doesn’t kill, they protect others first – they are selfless. I _like_ heroes; I want your brother to be a hero. You’re darkness and he is light, you don’t fit a hero type but…lets give you a chance. Maybe you'll be good at it?”

Noire didn’t know what to make of the stranger, but being a hero didn’t sound half bad. It sounded like the sort of person their mother always praised but… his comments about Noire being the dark side of the coin he and Alois shared did dig deeper into his mind than he was willing to admit. 

“Of course, I’m the villain – so all you have to do is stop me. Easy right?” The man’s grin was vicious and excited, making Noire’s stomach twist up into tight knots. Why did this human want to play a game like this? 

The card in his fingers was suddenly dropped, falling to the ground slowly but at the same time something clicked. It sounded like a switch had been flicked somewhere and Noire saw a brief look of shock cross the stranger’s face. Then his mother’s voice rang out.

“Protect the children!” 

For a second Noire didn’t understand, but then the entire nest shook. Something above them had exploded, the force of the explosion nearly knocked Noire to the ground and from the corner of his eye he could see parts of the building beginning to crumble and break apart. Only then did he realize why his mother had shouted what she did. 

The little ones that Alois huddled near were directly under a particularly weak part of the building. Noire knew that things that heavy could hurt someone if it fell on them. He knew that human bodies could be crushed under that sort of weight. Amongst the horrible sounds of the building breaking apart and crumbling to the ground in places, Noire knew that place was not safe. This whole place wasn’t safe.

Noire took a step towards the little ones, mind working fast to think of how much his shadows could shield them from the destruction when he noticed something else at the same time. His mother was standing apart from them. The explosion had thrown everyone off balance and Lacie had already been a small distance away from the little ones and Alois. She’d been looking small again; she sometimes lost her breath or needed to sit down abruptly and she’d turn very pale. Noire didn’t know the word for it at the time; he didn’t understand why his mother could look so frail so suddenly.

He'd learn later that this was what they'd call sickness. It was what humans called dying.

Right now he only needed a glance to know that she wasn’t going to be able to get to the others. Her legs wouldn’t work – one of those small moments had stolen the ability from her. She wasn’t safe. 

Lacie had told him to protect the little ones, but she was in danger as well. Noire hesitated, it was the smallest hesitation but it was costly. The building did not wait for him to decide and in a horrible avalanche of rubble and dust. By the time he’d rushed for his mother the upper level of the building had collapsed and he lost sight of her in the downpour. He heard Alois scream out his name but he knew the roar of half the building collapsing to the ground below had drowned out the sound. He’d heard Alois calling him in his head before his brother and the little ones vanished in the downpour of stone and metal.

The force of half the building breaking apart shook the remaining half that Noire stood on, it knocked him down as a few pieces of the upper floor fell around him, bruising and cutting Noire’s body. 

As the sound began to fade away, and the tremors stopped leaving the dust to settle around the wreckage, Noire slowly became aware of the fact he was still breathing. But he couldn't move, couldn’t force himself to pick his battered body up and move the rubble off of him. Because he knew, he knew that he’d just lost something precious. No one had been there to grab his mother, she couldn’t have moved herself and the place where she’d been was now nothing more than empty space. The entire section of the floor she’d been standing on had fallen from under her and been buried by the floors above it. 

In a matter of seconds he’d lost sight of the little ones, his brother and their mother.

For a while he wasn’t even capable of coherent thought, he simply lay there under the smaller sections of brick work that had collapsed on him, staring out at the setting sun. It looked pretty he’d thought distantly, glowing a wonderful gold and orange as it ducked behind the tall buildings of Gotham. He’d always liked colour but it felt like it was fading from his eyes with every passing second. He was crying but even though there was no sobbing, the tears just kept coming dragging through the dust that had covered his face and leaving streaks through it. 

It wasn’t until Noire heard someone else moving that he came back to the world. There was a shifting and the sound of rubble being displaced as someone dragged themselves out of it. If Noire listened closely he thought he could hear someone crying, and he knew that he wasn’t the one making the sound.

So Noire began to very slowly pull himself up as well. The sections of brick that had fallen on him gave away easily under his shoulder and Noire was able to pull himself free of the wreckage easily. He was still on the sixth floor, only fragments of the building remained around him and the sky was now visible from all angles. But against the glow of the setting sun, there stood the stranger’s figure. It looked black against the colour of the sky but Noire knew who it was. 

It was the monster that ruined everything. 

Noire wasn’t thinking as he stood up, ignoring the way his body screamed and ached with pains he’d never felt before. His back straightened out and Noire felt his shadows curling up around his feet, he could push the human off the building. He wouldn’t survive the fall – he’d die like everyone else. That thought propelled Noire’s feet forward because he didn’t want his shadows to touch the human, instead he reached out with his flesh hand. 

Then suddenly the human turned around to face him in a single violent swing. His face looked a lot like what Noire thought his must look like. The crying he’d heard came from this human and the memory of the tears he’d shed lingered in the clean streaks down his dust-layered face. On that same face he wore that smile Noire hadn’t had a name for at first – he had the word now.

That crooked smile stared back at him. 

“T-Tragedy.” The human gasped out and Noire noticed that there blood splashing his lip when he spoke. Something inside the human had been broken then the upper floor fell on them. Humans were breakable. “Tragedy makes a hero. So I took something valuable from you.” He elaborated, but then Noire took another step forward and the stranger took a step back, smile twisting on his face. 

“Ah-ah! Better not get too close.” Then much to Noire’s horror the human produced a gun and pointed it right at Noire’s head. The small distance between them made it impossible to see anything except for the barrel of the gun and a hint of a smile from the man holding it.

“When I discovered you and your brother – I was positively thrilled you know. I had been racking my brains. ‘Who would make a good hero?’ – I kept asking myself. Then out of nowhere I catch wind of two little demons that embody light and dark and all of a sudden it was all so easy. Who would make a better hero than a being made of light?” 

Noire knew the gun could hurt humans, he wasn’t human but…if falling rocks and flames could hurt him like the little ones then it was possible that thing could hurt him as well and so he didn’t move an inch as the monster’s words passed over him.

“And I thought, I will mold them, breaking them and recreate them – until they were perfect. A perfect hero to do what weaker people could not. So what do I do? Well I start to plan. Hire some low life thugs, whose lives were not worth much to begin with and steal what the creature values. Then I create a situation where they have a choice to protect the innocents or kill the person that hurt them by rigging an old abandoned building with explosives.”

The human's voice wobbled, catching and breaking on that final word. He released a wretched sound, something caught between a sob and gasp. More red coloured his lip, something in the human was horribly broken, bleeding inside of him. Noire was at a loss, humans were so delicate - even the monstrous ones with horrible smiles.

"I..." The human shuddered, fingers trembling around the gun. "I...I told them to rig the explosives to...but..." He was losing his words and Noire almost offered his mouth to offer some of his own when suddenly the human tensed. Once trembling fingers locking down tight on the gun. 

The gun made a little clicking sound and Noire froze in alarm, not sure if that sound meant it would hurt him or not. It didn’t seem to do much else.

“W-What did you choose? You took a third option and tried to save at least someone. I was wrong; you’re not a villain to match the dark side of your brother as I thought. I...am sorry for that.”

Silence followed for a few tense seconds and then slowly the gun was lowered. Noire didn’t understand what was going through the crooked human’s mind as he gazed at the gun with a faint smile. It didn’t look painful like the others the human made had and Noire then realized that not all smiles were warm or kind. They could be sad, just like this. 

“It was not supposed to end like this. Those explosives were not meant to...I hadn’t even explained the rules of the game to you. No one was supposed to-- no one except me…” He murmured under his breath and then slowly the gun came up again, resting just below the man’s face with the barrel pointed between his eyes. “But, I...I think this was enough. Monochrome Black. Ha, I...well I thought I'd call you that. S-See, I even picked a name for you, cute right?"

The gun clicked again, Noire flinched, taking an uncertain step forward. Humans could be hurt with guns.

"Don't!" The human snapped, voice high with what Noire knew was definitely fear this time. The tears started anew. "Just...Just stay right there. I can’t let you be the one to kill me - that would mean your choice meant nothing.”

Humans could be killed with guns.

“….I am satisfied with just this.”

Noire lunged, hand outstretched at the same time as a second, smaller explosion cracked through the air. This one was closer and Noire realized to his horror that the sound came from the gun as the crooked human fired at himself. Noire tried to grab his hand as it fell limp, tried to catch him before he plummeted off the edge of the sixth floor – but he was too slow.

It only took a few seconds. A splash of blood and sudden flutter of fabric as the crooked human tilted over the edge – then he was gone, vanishing down to the ground below. Noire swore he heard the sound of the human’s body meeting the pavement and he knew without a doubt that the crooked human was dead. 

When his knees hit the ground, Noire didn’t bother to get back up. His hand was still reaching out into the empty space where the human had been. He didn’t know that human’s name, or really understand anything he’d said. Noire couldn’t process any of his jumbled thoughts, let alone force himself to move. He didn't know why he'd reached for the crooked human, didn't know why he was filled with such an overwhelming horror when the man's life slipped through his fingers.

It was all too much and so there there he sat in the stilling dust, staring at the sky until a shadow descended over him.

The Bat came to take him away and Noire didn’t protest when he was gently pulled to his feet and taken away from that place. He found out later that the young ones had survived as well as his brother with only minor injuries – but his mother was gone. He heard the large ones talking about it, the ones that weren’t all human. 

They talked about it while probing him, checking his condition. Some of it hurt but slowly the physical hurt faded away the more they tended to him. The green man was kind and asked permission to go through Noire’s head. He didn’t say no and he felt it when the adult entered his thoughts. It didn’t feel like his link to Alois which had gone concerningly silent. But it was gentle and comforting.

When the alien remerged he reassured the other large ones that Noire was fine, in shock he said, but ultimately no physical or long lasting damaged. They thought a rock must have hit his head and that’s why he didn’t respond when they spoke to him. Noire knew he should make words for them, his mother would have told him it would only be polite to speak so they could hear him. But his voice wouldn’t work and even if it did – he had no words to give. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, unable to understand the constant buzz of conversation the large ones were having. He stared at them because they were colourful – a big one in blue and red looked at him kindly and a little sadly. The one in black seemed scary, only looked in sharp stares and glares – Noire wondered if it was because he was their dark one, like he was. The others all had colour. The green alien that spoke smoothly in a deep voice had been gentle with him, the pretty woman wore colours like the kind strong man. Even the emerald that shone almost as brightly as his own little brother was able to brighten the room – no matter how rough his way of speaking was.

The emerald man never looked at Noire, he looked anywhere but him and should their eyes meet for even a second – he’d turn away fully. That man hated him, Noire knew it, could feel it in the way he refused to look at him. 

Did the emerald man hate him because he couldn’t save his mother or the crooked human?

Then suddenly there was warmth, a gentle pressure around his shoulders and when Noire turned to look up he saw the man in red. The one that walked with lightening in his step and an open smile on his face. He spoke to Noire in a voice that was as kind as the strong man and gentle as the green one.

This human is a good human – Noire thought to himself.

“Hey there little guy.” The good human in red said as he sat down with him. Now the red man was small like Noire, not standing tall with the other large ones. “You looked cold.” 

He had been, but even the cold that he knew was dangerous to his body hadn’t been enough to jog him from his daze. But the good human’s voice had done it. Noire thought about his little brother, thought about the warm hand he’d placed on his shoulders when he’d been cold before. The good human didn’t touch him but the blanket was warm and reminded him of Alois’s attempts to comfort him. His little brother, who he had not been able to reach since hearing him scream his name. Their link was so silent, it had never been like that before. 

But the dark one, the Bat, told him that Alois was alive. Hurt but alive – soon he’d see him again. Noire believed that. 

“I’m the Flash.” The one in red said gently and Noire thought that was a funny name. Never heard one like that before, it almost sounded like the sort of name the crooked human used – a title like Black and White rather than a name. The Flash human looked uncomfortable when Noire remained silent. 

Then he remembered his mother telling him that when he met someone he should give his name, especially if they wanted to talk or offered theirs. The Flash human was a good one, Noire didn’t want to be rude to him and so he opened his mouth to say his name. 

“I wasn’t fast enough.” Was what came out instead.

In an instant it felt like all of the numbness vanished and Noire was overwhelmed with feelings he did not have names for. He began to cry, this time it wasn’t silent. He sobbed and choked on his own air and the tears seemed to burn his already sore eyes as they relentlessly poured down his cheeks. 

The Flash human’s response was immediate; his arms wrapped around Noire and pulled him into a hug. For a moment Noire felt surrounded by warmth and a comfort he didn’t think possible. It felt like he was safe with this human’s arms around him. The crying continued and so did the pain but Noire clung onto this human tightly like a lifeline. 

It hurt and he thought that if the human let go of him he would fall into pieces. Noire didn’t know how long he cried for but the whole time that human was there, arms around him with nothing but soft words of comfort to offer. Promises that didn’t sound empty and Noire trusted every word he said.

This was a good human.

Noire could feel the dark one’s eyes on them from time to time and he made sure to look back at him when he was coherent enough to do so. This group was full of colour and light, but they had someone made up of shadows just like him – this large one he’d follow. Rely on him to prove that just because he was ‘Black’ he didn’t have to be the bad brother.

Eventually he nodded off, tears still slipping from his eyes even as what little strength he had left his body. Even then when he was barely conscious, his good human didn’t leave, kept him wrapped up, safe and warm. He trusted this human not to let him be hurt anymore.

The Flash human had taken him in, given him a home and all the warmth in the world. He showed Noire what good food tasted like, taught him how to walk like a real human and not float a few inches off the group while pretending he was walking. When Noire got sick or sad, he was always there to help him through it even if he didn’t know what the right thing to do or say was, he still tried. This human, even when Noire was cold or mean always had a ready smile for him. 

This human was a good human, called Barry – and this human was his.

 

 

***  
…

 

 

His human was in this house, trapped by the crooked human that Noire was sure was dead.

Noire saw nothing but red and before Batman could stop him, Black slammed his fist against the door. As he drew back to throw a second punch, tendrils of shadow wrapped firmly around his fist and gave the blow a stronger force behind it. Noire hit the door again and again. It creaked and groaned under the abuse but even when he thought it should have been broken off its hinges it remained firmly blocking him from Barry.

He’d been so incredibly stupid as a child. Noire knew that most of this could be blamed on the fact that he physically aged too fast and didn’t learn the same things that human children did. How could he be expected to know what kidnapping had meant? He had long since stopped thinking of people in such closed categories. It wasn’t ‘little ones’ and ‘big ones’ anymore, but there was still a very distinct good and bad factor. Noire no longer felt as separated from humanity as he had when he was smaller.

Barry had practically raised him, he’d grown up with those humans and now he knew that he was nearing an age where he couldn’t afford to be naïve to everything. He couldn’t ignore it when someone would say something and expect him to understand when he just didn’t, he couldn’t just rush into everything and expect people not to be alarmed, not to worry. 

Noire’s fist jolted to a halt for a second when he remembered the last thing he and Barry had spoken about. Barry had been so scared and Noire didn’t see it through his anger. Through his own fear. He’d been so focused on his brother and proving that he could be a ‘hero’ that he hadn’t stopped to question why Barry had been upset. 

He was just scared that Noire would get hurt and instead of reassuring him or at least hearing out his feelings – Noire had slammed the door shut on him. Now that same door wouldn’t let him back inside to help Barry – in a sense it was punishment. 

His fist flew down to connect with the door again and Noire didn’t intent to stop until either he or the door gave out. If nothing else he had to get inside, just to apologize to Barry for being such a selfish, rotten little monster. 

“Black!” His name must have been called at least three times by now but he barely even heard it that time. What did get through to him was Batman’s hand on his shoulder. Firm and demanding. “ _Noire_!” Without thinking Noire whipped around and damn near hit Batman like he had been the doing to the door. He stopped just in time and Batman hadn’t even flinched, even with Noire’s fist – still writhing with unruly, inky shadows – a mere centimeter away from his face.

“Stop.” The command was quiet, simple and just like that Noire dropped his fist, arms slack at his sides. Batman didn’t sound comforting but that voice wasn’t harsh either. “That’s enough.” 

Just like that, Noire knew that Batman had already guessed who’s calling card that symbol was. He knew and somehow that was all the comfort in the word, Noire wasn’t crazy and now Batman was here to help. He had never let Noire down in all of his life. Not as a representation of what a dark hero could be or in any other aspect. 

He trusted Batman just like he’d trusted the Flash back when he was still small. 

Once Noire was calm enough to be spoken to, Batman looked up to the door to note the reaction it had to Noire hitting it with both his flesh and magic. There was definitely a reaction; half the door was covered in an inky black substance that did not require Jordan’s ring to see. Inside the black side of the door half of the symbol was now visible to the naked out, standing out as a white mark on the door.

Batman had an idea. 

Alois had been silent on his end the moment Noire had screamed. Bruce knew that the younger brother was most likely no longer in his house. It was entirely possible that he had left for Barry’s home the second Noire’s distressed cry reached him through the other end of the communicator. His indifferent, cruel little brother façade was paper thin but Bruce knew Noire was too thick to see through it any time soon.

Despite Alois leaving the house being a direct breach of their agreement, it would be a great help. Bruce knew everything there was to know about the Crooked Man, everything he could scrap up from the man’s past and his actions that day at the abandoned building. The accounts from the hostage children and even Noire’s small snippets of information built a rather telling picture.

If the door reacted to Noire’s magic like this, it was entirely possible it would have a similar reaction to Alois’s. The Crooked Man had stated he wanted to make heroes of them before he died, even if this culprit was a mere copycat, that would still stand as a fact of importance to his actions. 

“Lantern.” Jordan, for all his faults, jumped into action when need be. Without much guidance he took Bruce’s place at Noire’s side. The boy seemed to be shutting down which Bruce guessed was the effect the door would have on him. Bruce had to be sure that Noire wouldn’t suddenly sleep walk himself to a cemetery or somehow get hurt. Jordan didn’t make any snide comments or complaints as Noire fell limp in his hold.

His only real question was a glance up at Bruce, he had that expression on his face. The one that demanded Bruce pull an answer out of thin air like magic – thankfully he might really have one up his sleeve. “Mind him.” Bruce commanded. “I have a theory, but we can’t have him wandering off. Keep him away from the door.” 

“Going to pull some detective magic?” Hal asked dryly, his spirit not really behind the jab and Bruce very nearly smiled. He would provide the detective and should everything go according to plan, White would deliver the magic.

“Something of the sort.” Was his answer. Hal snorted but didn’t say anything more as he carried Noire away from the front door, to set him down against a tree closer to the edge of the property. Just out of earshot. 

“How close are you.” Batman asked as soon as he turned his communicator on. He didn't bother to pretend that White wouldn’t be rushing to this place as face as he could.

“Would it be off putting if I told you that I’ve been sitting in a tree three buildings over for the past ten minutes?” Seemed Alois still had it in him to be snarky. Batman didn’t respond in kind. 

“Get over here, _now_.” 

Another pro to Alois was his ability to follow commands. Provided they did not in some way go against his one track mind he was a very efficient and obedient solider. Bruce heard a slight creak from the tree closest to him and took that as a sign of Alois’s arrival. A glance up and he could just see the male’s fingers harshly gripping the tree branch. He could guess why.

“Your brother is fine. He is merely knocked out due to coming into contact with a charmed object.” He explained under his breath, glad for the communicator between them.

“And you want me to do the same.” Alois replied dryly.

There was a stretch of silence between the pair and Bruce knew Alois would be studying his brother’s collapsed form. He even heard Alois snort in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe it was Green Lantern helping his hot-headed brother. 

“Fine.” Bruce didn’t look Alois’s way when he agreed. “But if its really that man inside – Crooked Man or whatever it is you call him – you take care of him. You keep it quick, quiet and away from my big brother – deal?”

"You know I won't--"

"Yes, yes." Alois snapped, his emotions getting the better of him. "I know you won't, I'm not asking you to. Just...keep him away out of my brother's sight. You can do that much."

“I’ll do what I can.” 

“That will do.” Alois then uncurled silent from his position in the tree and dropped down into a crouch in front of Bruce. He knew that the young man’s thin frame would be blocked from sight even if Hal happened to look up. Between the trees between them and Batman’s looming figure it was fairly easy for Alois to summon up a single white beam and tap it against the door. It was a far more gentle display than what his older brother had laid down but the effect was much the same. 

White swayed on his feet, seemingly hit with some sort of dizzy spell and Bruce only just caught him before he collapsed – but Alois remained conscious. If this could attributed to his greater strength or less excessive contact with the door Bruce couldn’t say. The effect was immediate, the remaining side of the door gradually brightened until it too was coated in a paint like substance, this time it was white and the symbol on its side black. 

Alois stared at it tiredly while allowing Batman to keep him upright. There was a distant, bitter sort of amusement in his gaze and Bruce caught him muttering something about symbolic nonsense.

Then the two colours split apart and drained to the ground as if they’d been nothing but liquid this whole time. Left in their place was the simple woodened door that Bruce knew from his visits to Barry’s home. The door looked real and when Bruce reached out to press his hand flat against it, it bent inwards with enough force when before it had been unyielding. It was finally accessible. 

“Go on then.” Alois muttered under his breath. “Go and save that friend of yours.” 

Batman didn’t smile but he felt that if he had it would not have been inappropriate. Alois’s eyes began to slide shut and Batman checked once over his shoulder to make sure that hal was distracted with the other Harlow boy, before picking up his sleeping form and moving him out of sight. It was easy enough to place him around the side of the house, obscured by trees and shadows. Alois hadn’t wanted to be seen by anyone and Bruce kept true to his word, Alois’s involvement in this whole thing would be kept between the two of them. 

Heaven forbid Bruce reveal that any part of Alois was not thoroughly corrupted. 

This time Bruce did smile, a brief fleeting expression he kept to himself before he returned to the front door. He’d call Lantern and hopefully Black could be persuaded to wake up – it was time they go and make sure that their speedster was safe.

 


	13. I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am an act or deed that inspires a grin.”
> 
> “I bring with me a feeling of cheer- lessening trouble and replacing fear.”
> 
> “I need no thank you and ask for no pay – I only wish to brighten your day.”
> 
> “You’ll be amazed when you suddenly see all the good things you could do with me.”
> 
> “What am I?”

 

 

Time had not stopped for Barry. As such he could not afford to lie there forever, staring blankly into the empty space above his head.

When the Crooked Man dropped him into the next arena, he had hit hard and Barry didn’t get back up. He didn’t spring to his feet to race after some clue or challenge. Instead he lay where he’d been dropped and just looked into the air.

A large part of him knew that every second he spent on the ground was another second that he might be needed back in the real world. There were people he had to protect, people he owed it to – reasons to get up and keeping going. But for some reason he couldn’t manage it. Not a single inch and the longer he laid there the more he began to wonder – had anyone come looking for him?

He knew his friends; if they set their mind to it they could find him anywhere on earth or this solar system – probably further if they really threw their back into it. If they tried, they could do anything. Yet here he was very, much not rescued. How long had he been down here? Days? Had no one noticed his absence?

Wait – Barry reasoned with himself – they had to notice. His boss would be furious that he was slacking off and surely Batman would be irritated that he missed a league meeting. So had they noticed he wasn’t there and just not cared enough to come looking? Noire was probably still too angry with him to care where he was, probably never bothered coming back to the house. Hal was off planet no doubt, he wouldn’t know Barry was missing and even if he had – there were more important things to do then worry about one earthling. 

“ _No_.” Barry hissed to himself, jerking himself upright finally. “No! Stop thinking like that, it’s not true.”

He was just stressed; it was just this place getting to him. Barry didn’t really believe his friends thought so little of him. 

But maybe… _maybe_ they should.

That thought came into his mind and refused to leave again. After all what good had he done here? Everyone he tried to help had died, fake or not. He’d seen Batman – a Batman – kill a Superman. Watched a fake become self aware twice and both times seen them die, even choose to kill themselves if it would help him progress. Everywhere he turned there was more failure and at each failure he was reminded that this game was made to prove he was a hero.

Barry hadn’t lost yet, but what had he proved? That he wasn’t a killer, that he was a good person, yes. But he’d also shown that he was a useless person without his powers. Without them he was unable to save anyone.

He wasn’t fast enough.

Just as Barry was beginning to feel a crushing helplessness overcome him, a small weight dropped into his lap. When Barry looked at it, he found a knife with a note attached to it. It was very similar to the first note that the Crooked Man had left him, simple and on a single scrap of paper. He chose to put the knife down by his side, slowly and with care, he wanted nothing to do with it and Barry certainly refused to use it for anything CM had in mind. The note seemed a bit safer to handle. When Barry turned it over it only had two words scrawled on its surface.

‘ _Play Nice_.’ 

Momentarily confused, Barry was given a rather immediate answer as something barreled into him too fast to see. Taken off guard and thrown a good distance across the floor, Barry’s rattling brain tried to catch up with what had happened. First he recognized the blow as a punch, and second he recognized the speed – someone had just hit him at super speed.

It was foolish but for a split second something like hope bloomed in his chest, even after having been given what was very likely going to be a black eye in the near future.

“Eobard?” He tried; unable to think of any other speedster he’d met recently that hit him like that. He didn’t stop to consider how ridiculous that was.

Abruptly there was a mass of red and yellow standing in front of him, vibrating violently but already Barry could see that this replica didn’t quite look the same as the Reverse Flash had. Too small and thin to be Eobard and the eyes were not the eerie red and black he knew. Instead the face that grinned back at him when the figure slowed enough to properly register – was his own. 

“Oh you have _got_ to be kidding.” Barry got out just before the fake him hit him again.

This time the punch only pushed him down against the ground and the replica Flash followed him. In mere seconds he had a knee jamming up under his ribs and both wrists held down by a stronger set of his own hands. The knee against his chest violently slammed into him and Barry hacked up a cough. If he lost a rib in that blow it wouldn’t have surprised him.

Barry distantly registered that the knife he’d been given was a good distance away from them. He couldn’t be sure how far the fake Flash had tossed him; he might have even kicked the knife out of reaching difference while Barry was distracted with everything else that was going wrong at that exact moment. He wasn’t sure how useful a knife would really be right now but Barry could have at least used it for some form of defense.

The other Flash was looking down at him and Barry tried to place the emotion. It certainly wore the same ones that Eobard did, something bordering manic glee and disgust. Barry didn’t think his face could contort in such a way and the sight was a far cry from pleasant. 

“How’s the view down there, Barry?” It asked him conversationally and Barry managed to grin back even as he was robed of air.

“Not quite so bad, it’d be better if there wasn’t some cheap knock off blocking the view though.” 

“Oh, that’s mean.” The fake Flash scoffed and Barry made a guttural sound of pain as the knee pressed against him dug in harsh. “Maybe not as mean as that, a close second though.”

This went on for a few more agonizing seconds. Whenever the force against his ribs and stomach would let up it would a brief relief before it came down again, just a bit harder each time. It was rather disconcerting to see himself partaking in small time torture with a grin on his face. The replica did look alarmingly like him, except while Barry was in his day clothes; the fake was in the Flash suit. Someone wearing that suit should never partake in something like this – it just wasn’t right.

Then finally the fake settled on a consistent pressure that was not quite painful enough to make Barry see stars but still too uncomfortable to make breathing an easy process.

“You were laying there for an awful long time, I thought you’d given up before I even got my chance.”

“Oh my god, did he make you to talk me to death?” Barry managed with a biting laugh.

“Something like that.”

The Flash then gradually eased the pressure off of Barry entirely, until he was left to drag in ragged breaths at his leisure and the fake was back on two feet. With a casual air of mild amusement the Flash paced. Not the determined back and forth Barry knew from Batman’s steady steps, but a more airy, dance sort of pattern.

“What should I talk at you with? There’s plenty to pick from – I could bring up that dead mother of ours and remind you how that was entirely your fault. When we were just a kid not being ‘fast enough’ was already pretty bad, but then to learn that the only reason she died was because you made an enemy in the future – well that’s gotta sting.”

He paused, regarding Barry with a cruel smirk.

“But low hanging fruit, am I right?”

While Barry pushed himself onto his side and then more gruelingly up to his feet, the other him made circles around him. Never following the same path he had in the loop before, always skimming across the ground with a sort of lightness that Barry couldn’t remember ever having moved with himself. Sometimes he heard people complain about or admire the fluid, constant motion speedsters would move with at times. He’d never seen it from the outside before; it looked like he was moving on air rather than the ground. 

“Doesn’t help that Bats has his finger prints all over the dead parent bit. Well if we can’t use that, how about something a bit fresher? There’s always your failure as a friend to Hal – I mean how many people do you know would actually be so terrible as to force their friend to fly into _space_ for refuge? I’m only coming up with one name here. Do you still blow up his phone with messages when he’s off planet?” 

A pause, as if Barry might answer and then a laugh when he didn’t.  
“Oh who am I kidding, I know you do. I’m you – of course I know! FYI, I think we might have misspelt guardian in that last one.”

Barry’s lungs were still struggling and old aches and pains from his tumbles around the Crooked Man’s games were beginning to mount up. It felt like no part of him had been untouched in all of this, Barry wasn’t sure exactly how much more movement he could possibly get if the Flash kept knocking him down like that.

Regardless, now that he was back on his feet Barry did try to prepare for another strike. Watching as the Flash danced around him, occasionally flittering in and out of sight as he jumped to another location at super speed. Barry was not known for being graceful, everyone in the office said so. But looking at his own body moving now, the Flash did look incredibly graceful.

Moving more like a predator than Barry had thought possible in his own skin. He was positive he didn’t look like that when he moved as the Flash – but then again he had never seen himself quite like this before.

Of course, it wasn’t as impressive when you remembered that Batman moved with a lethal grace all his own. Without super speed to add fluidity to his movements. 

“No?” The Flash asked, when Barry didn’t verbally respond. “Disappointing, how about the kid then? You’d think after losing both parents of your own you might have a bit of an idea how to look after another orphan. Yet lo and behold – you can’t manage that either. How fast did the kid end up hating you? Did you set a record for fastest hated foster father? You know, before you let him get killed of course.”

The words about Hal and Noire spilling from the fake’s mouth were grating on his nerves like mad, but even the replica had admitted that it was his job to talk at Barry. He’d seen this routine before, show a familiar face and dig at weak emotional spots. Just because he knew the gig didn’t mean that it didn’t occasionally hit its mark.

Barry simply clenched his fists and waited it out. Trying to think of what the challenge here was even if he was weary beyond belief at this point.

“Really, nothing?” The replica pouted but to Barry he didn’t look the slightest bit upset. The fake looked like he was having lots of fun at his expense. 

“You see, I didn’t actually think you’d make it this far. I mean – I’m you and I know _me_ – so I figured you’d cave somewhere around the second challenge.” Barry was back on his feet, the Flash continued to chatter at him. “Seeing even a criminal like Snart put a bullet in his head must have been a shocker. But hey, it’s not like there’s anything you could have done. Right?”

The fake’s face twisted up into a gleeful sneer. “You didn’t want to be hurt after all.”

“You--!” Barry snarled viciously, memories of the replica Len’s faint smile and words about the things that were dear to the real Captain Cold still felt too fresh a wound in his mind. 

He wanted the fake to shut up, to stop talking with his voice and smiling with his face – in that damn suit no less. He could try to push aside all of the replica’s snide comments about his failings in the outside world because he could still trust in his friends. But in here, where there was nothing but him and his own mistakes – it all felt too raw and so Barry snapped.

In hindsight it was not his best idea ever to try and hit the Flash.

The put down came faster than Barry could register. A blur, crack and suddenly pain. The Flash had taken him by the back of the head and slammed him nose first into the ground and Barry was sure it was broken. The spew of blood choked his airways and for a few horrible seconds Barry inhaled blood and dust against the ground, unable to get a single untainted breath of air into his lungs.

“But of course it wasn’t your fault was it, Barry? You didn’t _do_ anything. So how could it be your fault?” The hand tangled in his hair jerked Barry back off the ground, a sticky trail of blood dripping to the ground as Barry’s spine arched back up off the ground, dragged easily by the Flash’s strength. “That’s the most wonderful thing about you, Barry. So moral and kind but completely unable to move forward if it hurts others.” 

“Isn’t it nice? To live in a world like that, where everybody can be innocent by just doing nothing.” 

Then the fake dropped him and Barry fell into a heap on the floor. Sticky blood was already beginning to dry across his face and his half hearted attempts to clean it off with the back of his hand only ended up smearing blood all over his mouth and cheek.

“Have I gotten your attention, Barry?”

He had, and Barry noticed that the Flash had dropped him a bit closer to the knife he’d been unable to reach earlier.

Behind him the Flash was pacing again. Barry could only just hear his feet skidding across the smooth surface of the ground and the occasional snicker. His eyes stayed on the ground, on his own balled up fists and the steady dripping of blood. 

“You see that’s the key to you, Barry. All that _speed_ , and nowhere useful to put it. All that potential, and no spine to actually make something of it. You can’t go back – oh no, of course not – but you don’t seem to move forward either. Running in circles.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Think about it. In here, out there – how many times could you have protected someone if you were just a little bolder, a little braver? If? How many lives could have been helped if you’d just been a little more willing to snuff out the most unsightly ones.”

“You’re talking about murder.” His voice was thick with blood, the words being forced from his throat came out slurred – not the snarl Barry was looking for. 

“In its most basic form, yes. But killing isn’t the root of your failures, no, no – that would be your egotism. Because you’re so precious about dirtying your hands, you’re not willing to do what needs to be done because it’ll make you _feel_ bad. Like a child trying to maintain the moral high ground. Sorry to break it to you, but we’re not children anymore.

Barry was only partially listening to the other him; his gaze hadn’t left the gradually growing puddle of blood between his hands. He had registered the danger, knew that there was every chance that the Flash would simply get bored of chatting and phase his hand through his own very human heart. It was a possibility but at the same time Barry had come to expect certain things from this little game.

One being that the Crooked Man valued being right far more than he did actually killing Barry.

“You don’t see it?” The Flash asked curiosity leaking into his words, as if he couldn’t fathom how Barry didn’t agree with him. “The backwardness of it all? Nobody likes being hurt, you are no exception to that rule and so what do you do in order to avoid being hurt? You do _nothing_. Oh sure, you put on a nice show, run around in the suit, smile and say the right words. But when it comes down to it – you never properly hurt anyone or do anything.”

It was becoming a chore to ignore the fake and Barry noticed once or twice the Flash’s feet skimming in and out of his line of sight – his pacing had closed into a tighter circle. Barry could only assume he was getting agitated with so little a reaction from Barry. He needed a thought and he needed it fast, he couldn’t match up with the Flash’s speed and if he let the fake keep talking, he’d begin to listen in earnest.

“You refuse to hurt others but keep hurting them through your immobility and fear of being hurt yourself. A coward that can’t stop running in loops, can’t move on forward and looking back is too painful. If you hadn’t been so afraid of hurting someone you would have killed the Reverse Flash – spared all the people he has killed. How about Grodd, or even Top – you could have stopped them. But you didn’t.” 

The fake skirted in an out of sight a third time and Barry had just started to shift himself up, towards an upright position when a powerful blow to his ribs came from the side. The force of the kick threw Barry a small distance across the room and left him sprawled back on the ground, aching in places he thought had healed enough to be forgotten.

What he hadn’t forgotten was the position of the knife. Barry felt its smooth handle against his forearm and without too much thought; Barry curled his fingers around it and tucked it safely under his sleeve. 

The fake didn’t even pause in his chattering.

“Are you not listening, Barry?” It spat at him and Barry could distinctly hear the fake approaching him at a human pace. “You’re _clearly_ not absorbing this. The Crooked Man won’t teach you the way things actually are, he’d have you be an idealized hero. He’d have you keep living in that fantasy world where no body has to _die_. So I’m here to help you break out of this delusion you have where being a ‘good person’ is enough.”

Another kick, lighter, less violent, meant only to push Barry onto his stomach and then a much firmer pressure came down on his back. The fake jammed his foot down between Barry’s shoulder blades, he probably knew that it was an empty gesture, Barry was unlikely to be getting up any time soon. The trail of blood leading to his current position and the newly blooming bruises across his jaw were the surface wounds, injuries under his clothes and skin would be more severe.

Under his sleeve, the knife he’d grabbed sliced along his arm and Barry winced as he began to bleed from a new wound. Even as it began to stain his clothes, Barry didn’t react beyond that small expression of pain and amongst all the other pains he was feeling – it was hardly suspicious. The Flash didn’t notice anything amiss and went on with his chitchat.

“Let’s look at it from an example point of view shall we? Seeing as you’re such an incredibly slow learner.” The fake dug his heel harshly into Barry’s back and to the fallen man’s credit; he only growled a sound of pain as opposed to whimpering.

“If you’d been harsher on Noire he never would have gone out to fight his brother. He wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you’d just hurt him first – it’s fine if it’s out of love, right? Even Hal refuses to stay by your side anymore, it would have been better if you’d just told it to him straight – even if it hurt his feelings at the time. Instead what do you do? You sit around, idly looking at your phone while wondering what otherworldly creature is trying to kill him _this_ time around.”

Barry said nothing, he had nothing to say. He was simply listening to his own thoughts taking human form and spitting them back at him. They were offhanded little thoughts, the sort that crept into his head late at night and were swiftly buried by sleep. If they reappeared during the waking hours, they could be shrugged off with a little frown and quiet reassurance that it was just a single, nasty thought.

It bore no real weight. 

But the weight on his back felt very real. The words his doppelganger was practically overflowing with were increasingly more difficult to shrug off and the tight feeling in his chest was impossible to ignore. Knowing he was being twisted only helped so much, after a while even knowing he was being manipulated failed to offer solace from what the fake was saying.

It was as if the Flash could feel the change in Barry’s silence. He’d been ignored earlier but now the quiet man under his foot was definitely listening, and the fake sneered.

“It’s honestly very funny, Barry. Because you’re so piss scared of hurting anyone else you just keep hurting yourself over and over again. Because of that you’ve created a wall between yourself and them. Is it really any wonder that no one has come to help you?”

The replica wasn’t voicing CM’s opinions. Barry knew that by now, the man made the replicas, but they tended to branch out and become their own creatures before long. Len and Eobard had been perfect examples, but they’d changed into better versions of themselves. This replica had distorted even more, it no longer followed the Crooked Man’s rules on heroism, it was promoting a type of behavior that would have this version of the Flash loose the Crooked Man’s game in a heart beat.

Despite knowing this, Barry didn’t feel comforted. This was supposedly the final stage of the game and there was no riddle in sight and as far as he could tell there was no challenge. It felt very much like the replica had overtaken this round. Not unlike how the Lacie fragment had twisted her own level. So why hadn’t the Crooked Man stepped in yet? He couldn't fear this replica like he supposedly had the fragment – right?

The Flash then rather casually lifted his foot from Barry’s back and crouched down next to him. Just so that he could lay a patronizing hand atop Barry’s head in some mock form of comfort.

“But that’s fine. We can fix all of that, all you have to do is be quiet and stay there on the ground. So long as you never do anything – I’ll be able to exist and if I exist, we can rectify your mistakes.”

His grip on the knife tightened and the replica’s smile twisted upwards.

“They won’t even know you’ve been replaced.” 

Enough was enough, Barry had found his limit. 

The Flash must have seen it coming, there’s no way he hadn’t been able to spot the knife as it whipped up from under Barry’s sleeve. In the time it took Barry to launch himself up off the ground and grab for his concealed weapon, there should have been some kind of retaliation. He couldn’t possibly have failed to realize Barry’s intentions as he brandished the weapon.

He’d first thought that perhaps it was surprise that kept the replica rooted in place as Barry plunged the knife deep into his gut. But even when surprised the speedster should have been able to do something besides stare at Barry as his stomach was torn into by the serrated edge of the blade. 

Barry realized a bit too late that the fake _had_ seen it, and simply opted not to move. He now stood there, crouched over Barry with a knife gouging out his gut and a manic grin on his face. 

“There you go.” The fake coughed, a small spot of blood colouring his bottom lip. “Wasn’t so hard was it, Barry?”

He’d made the mistake of thinking that the replica wasn’t still acting on the Crooked Man’s behalf. He’d failed to realise that the replica had been goading him into lashing out in a single thoughtless attack. The Flash hadn’t been promoting the Crooked Man’s ideals because he was trying to get Barry to go against them, not because he was acting out of his own volition. 

Barry had made the mistake of being so afraid and angry that he’d attacked. He’d been furious with himself and that lapse in judgment changed things.

A speedster would not succumb to wounds as simple as this and for a moment Barry held onto that hope. Thinking that he’d be able to subdue this Flash until he could think of a more permanent – no murder based – solution.

Except either the Crooked Man had not extensively covered the healing of speedsters, or simply chose not to give Barry the chance to remedy the situation because the Flash looked very much like he was dealing with this stab wound the same way a human would.

“He might not agree.” The replica ground out, obviously not immune to pain. Yet somehow still hell bent on talking. There was no respite from it. “But he’s a fool. Thinking heroes can be all good and all powerful. That’s fine, you can kill him…and then you can go to the outside world and do what I would do.” 

The refusal was on the tip of Barry’s tongue but he couldn’t seem to speak at all as more blood pooled on the floor and the replica got paler and paler. It was a daunting few minutes; neither the real nor the fake moved an inch. Barry’s hands had released the knife after his momentary lapse of sanity and were pressed firmly against the Flash’s wound as if he could stop the blood flow. But here where there was nothing but what the Crooked Man made for them, there was no hope of an ambulance, or bandages. 

They had nothing but time and even the replica couldn’t talk after enough of his internal organs had been broken. He was bleeding out, right in front of Barry and all the man could do was sit and wait for it to be over.

In the time it took for the fake to begin to slump and turn fully limp, Barry felt nothing. That may not have been an accurate description; it felt more like the world had just dropped out from under him. He’d been helpless before, he’d failed before, but Barry didn’t think he’d ever been in the same position as he was right now. 

Where what was happening was entirely his fault, with no excuse there to save him. He couldn’t fall back on youth, inexperience or a lack of speed – it was just him sitting in an empty space with a dying version of the Flash with him. 

He knew then that he was helpless and alone.

No one was coming to save him this time and he hadn’t been able to save anyone else. From the moment this started he’d been losing and losing. Time and time again, failing at every turn.

Now as the replica began to stop breathing and the blood stained almost every inch of the both of them, Barry sat still and waited. He couldn’t say what he was waiting for, the end probably. Something to stop or start, anything to let this particular scene be over.

It only took a few seconds after the fake’s body had turned completely limp and still for something to happen.

At first Barry didn’t register the footsteps, he was still staring blankly down at the Flash in his arms. A distant, not entirely complete thought brushing across his mind, he wondered if the Flash’s face would be exactly the same as his. He wondered what his face would look like when he’d died. He never tried to lift the mask. 

The steps grew closure, their echo finally registering in Barry’s head when the sound was almost directly in front of him. Barry gradually lifted his head, noting that someone was standing in front of him. It took a few more seconds before Barry could force his head up to properly look at the person standing over him.

He was met with a smile.

Barry didn’t say a word, he already knew who the man in bandages was. The Crooked Man had told him early on that should he fail even one of his challenges, it was automatic failure. Even the man’s odd appearance wasn’t particularly jarring to Barry, he simply looked over the man, bandages, scars and all, with the same vacant expression he’d looked on his own dead doppelganger with. 

The Crooked Man only smiled wider. 

“Looks like that’s that. I do hope you enjoyed yourself.”

A small click echoed around the empty space and then a gentle pressure against his head. There was a brief silence as the smooth metal of the gun’s barrel against his skin began to warm and Barry couldn’t force himself to return the gaze of the man staring down at him.

“I am satisfied with just this. Thank you for making me your enemy.” 

Then there was an earth shattering explosion and everything turned white.

 

…  
…

  

It had been dark the first time he perished. It had been dark when he’d awoken.  
And it went without saying that it would end in darkness the second time.

If he were to be dramatic about it all – and he so often was – he’d claim that the sun didn’t exist anymore. Nor did the moon glow and he’d long forgotten the tiny stars that shone up there to keep it company. Everything was dark and in some small part, buried deep within his mind, whispered that it would be light again is only he would remove the fabric wound tightly around his head. It kept his eyes glued shut under the scratchy material, refused to allow him any light.

The rest of him denied that logic. It may have been fear or disgust that kept him from first removing the coverings. If he did pry them from his face he’d be forced to see that the sun did still shine in the sky, the moon still rose to keep the night dwellers company – and he’d accomplished nothing.

The hollows of his bones rung out in a dreary whistle as what was left of his flesh squirmed and writhed restlessly. His eyes had been sealed shut from the moment he had woken up and now he had one free he could see no better in the darkness, but even so the broken man lifted his hand up to the sky. The broken man pulled his hand in front of his gaunt face and twisted elongated fingers testing their movement, seeing just how well his reawakened body could function. 

It would suffice.

The broken toy had become a broken man and now that man intended to remain, as he always should have been – crooked.

The words spoken in the fleeting moments before he’d awoken played out in his head, repeating and swirling through his unseeing eyes over and over again. Simple little snippets of conversation came back to him. He could not recall the face of the person he had conversed with, but the words remained long after the memory faded.

Names, ideas – goals. It slowly returned to the crooked man as he lay in the filthy gutter where the monster had left him. The cold drops of ice hitting his face and slowly adding weight to his shredded clothes must have been rain – the low thrum of sound would have been life. He didn’t need eyes to know this place and he barely needed memory to know what came next. 

He would have to leave, and so he did. Before the stitched together pieces of his body could be found by those still in their first skin, the crooked man dragged himself from that place. He had work to do, things had to be done and he could not afford to leave anything up to chance. He’d left too much up to chance in life and the result was this – an outstanding failure.

The world was _wrong_.

This wasn’t what he’d been expecting when he woke up. All the work he knew he must have done with his own two hands had gone to waste. The shadow was playing hero but not the way that he had taught him to and the shinning light that had been his greatest hope had turned his back on justice entirely – he’d become a villain.

“It’s not right!” Familiar words tore spitefully from his chest as the Crooked Man paced back and forth in furious little jerks of motion. “I left the world in their hands, did I not make them perfect? Were they not flawless, where did I go so very wrong?” 

He’d poured over the possibilities time and time again, trying to see a fault in his plan, some sort of unforeseen error in his hero creation process. But he found none. They’d suffered a great lose, one that left them with the responsibility of creating a better world in memory of what they once held dear – exactly how he’d always envisioned it.

It was only his life’s work. The single most important thing he’d ever done and the only thought to have ever dominated his mind – and now it was _ruined_. All things considered, he was handling this outstandingly well.

All the same his chest felt hollow, left only with the aching sense of dread he thought he’d left behind when he left the world for the first time. Something had to be done about this; it had to be done _now_. 

And so he turned his attentions to what he believed to be the source of the problem. The same day his body crawled its way, heaving and clawing back into existence, the Crooked Man took himself and all his various aches and pains, into a familiar city. Without the moon or sun to light his way, the Crooked Man instead guided himself with simple touches on the walls around him, familiar with the cities core – it was home. 

Even as his eyes began to become restless and demand to be unsealed so that he could look properly onto the living landscape, the Crooked Man ignored them. Sight was a wasted commodity in that moment; it would only distract him for what he really needed. In the darkness he could all but see the lingering lines of red and gold – like wisps of lightening fading too slowly.

This new way of seeing didn’t strike him as strange, instead it only validated what he already knew to be true. He was born to create heroes, and now to fulfill that role he had to follow the red path and find its source. Even if that path led him far from home and into a place that was unknown to him.

He had to find the red man – the one with speed in his very bones and then, he had to tear that out of him. 

It hadn’t taken him long to find his failures. He needed only to follow the threads of light and dark. The two brothers were easy enough to string along. A killing here, a murder there – slap on the bright one’s trademark and before long the fighting began in earnest. Those people that leant their lives to this game ended up being more useful than he could ever have imagined. After all he could not create something from nothing. A bit of pushing to add strain on the red man’s life, a small enchantment on a house door and the stage was set. The shadow had done the rest.

The work was finished, and the Crooked Man had completed it all wonderfully in his mind.

So well that now he had the famous hero exactly where he wanted him. It was almost too easy, sometimes he’d been enraged by the man’s resilience and once or twice even doubted his own resolve thinking traitorous thoughts like ‘maybe he is a hero’. But finally, after many rooms and games – he had the Flash on his knees.

The poor fool hardly looked a man, keeling in a pool of blood, clutching an empty doll like it had once been a human. The dolls were hardly alive, let alone human. They were nothing more than the remains of those that he'd taken, he had not created them to live for more than one level – the Flash was kind to mourn them, but kindness did not make a hero.

“I didn’t need life to know you.” The crooked man rasped, telling his story to the broken toy at his feet, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear as he spoke. It didn’t seem like the Flash had registered anything he’d said on his walk over. Instead it looked like he’d become more of a doll than the fakes had been. It was a mercy he wouldn’t live as long as they had in this state.

Barry didn’t speak, instead he sat at his feet on his hands and knees, head bowed with what the Crooked Man guessed was tears lingering on his face. Funny, he had been a broken toy, made into a broken man and then finally made into crooked one. This one was quiet the opposite. Once a hero, then a man and now a toy. 

All that was left to do was break him.

The red man didn’t look like he once had. The suit was gone and in its place there was a human. Blonde hair matted, clothes torn and his will left shattered into pieces around him. As the Crooked Man observed his contestant for the title of hero, he couldn’t help but think that he was barely even capable of being a man anymore. 

The person that was Barry Allen would cease to exist once he was done. First the Flash, then Barry Allen and finally, a broken toy.

Finally _nothing_.

“Looks like that’s that. I do hope you enjoyed yourself

Gently the echo of a gun being cocked rung out in the eerie silence of the Crooked Man’s little home, then the cool metal of the gun’s barrel came to rest tenderly against the former hero’s forehead.

And as the Crooked Man looked at the broken hero with a crooked little grin, he was still able to utter the words that had repeated over and over again in his head the day he woke up.

“I am satisfied with just this. Thank you for making me your enemy.” 

Then there was an earth-shattering explosion – but it had not come from his gun.

Dread grabbed the crooked man violently as the world he’d spent so long cultivating, began to split apart. This couldn’t be, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this! The seal he’d left on the door wouldn’t open until the two little monsters united; he’d driven a wedge between them too large to be over come in a matter of days!

And yet the world continued to shake and tear at the seams. Overhead the dark void that had been the endless ceiling above began to crack and crumble away and in poured light.

The crooked man shrieked. Even the bandages over his eyes could not block out the flood of light from the outside world. Dropping the gun in a panic, the crooked man’s hands flew up to his face, feeling out the coarse material of his unchanged bandages as he desperately tried to block out the light. But just as he could see the threads attached to the man in red and his two failures, there was nothing that could block out what he saw behind his own eyelids.

The outside world was too bright, too full of life – it wasn’t a place for him.

“Barry! Barry, you better not be fucking dead right now!” Someone’s voice came with the intense light and the crooked man could just see a green thread appear through the downpour of brightness. The green light was here, why was he here? He shouldn’t be here – he was supposed to be away from the Earth, far away from this place. 

“Lantern!” Another voice barked and that one the crooked man really remembered, it was the dark one. The bat. 

Ice like terror ran down his spine, he knew that in life he’d been a native to the city that produced the terrifying creature, that fear carried over with him into this life. 

This was terrible; they would ruin everything by being here! The Flash was supposed to be alone, no one was supposed to come for him!

Although he was a coward, even he could not ignore the feverish need to free his eyes from their bindings as the burning glare began to sear its way into his mind. So he scratched, and he pulled with a strength he didn’t remember having and when he finally tore one eye free from its bondage, his vision was further assaulted.

One eye was all he dared to open and even he was a touch surprised when sight truly came back to him. It was not the way of seeing he remembered in life, a murky wash of his new way of seeing the world moved over the reality before his eyes. The Flash still sat on the ground, blood drying over his arms and chest but the crooked man’s world was no longer the perfect empty void he’d created for Barry’s final game.

The intruders had torn open the sky and when the crooked man looked up—

“The…The sky.” High up above, there was the moon. For a few seconds he could only stare at it, he hadn’t seen the stars or moon in what felt like an eternity. They did still exist…

“Oh shit… Hey, Barry! Barry come on, what are you doing?” He couldn’t stare at the sky forever, the intruders had spotted Barry and the green one had already dashed for him, spilling words of concern.

Rage gripped the Crooked Man more furiously than his fear or awe had. His world might have been shattered but it was still _his_. With a single throw of his arm a glass box flew up between the intruders and them. Barry seemed to balk when he saw the glass wall. Ah, that’s right – this wall meant death to him.

The green one didn’t hesitate, throwing what seemed to be a massive mallet at the glass wall and the Crooked Man cringed a bit as the wall shuddered – he felt that one. But the wall stayed steady and kept them separated.

It was for his protection as much as it was to keep Barry trapped. They’d damaged the section of his world he’d put over the house, it wouldn’t be long before it completely pulled itself apart. Crooked Man knew he’d have to leave to a safer section of his world before that happened, of course even if they tore him to bits and pieces, it was entirely possible he’d wake up stitched back together.

If the monster decided he was worth putting back into a man shaped creature a second time.

“You weren’t invited.” The pair looked his way but he wasn’t the real danger. The world was still holding itself together enough to obey his commands. It was the Bat that first realized the danger; he gave a shout of warning to the flying man just before a large section of the ground shot up in an attempt to impale the pair. If the Bat hadn’t shouted, he would have skewered the green man. Irritated but not about to let up, the Crooked Man threw a few more attacks their way. The walls and floor were his to command and while the flying man managed in the air, the Bat was limited to the ground so he became the primary target.

Batman was fast, stupidly fast for a non-powered hero. Infuriated by just seeing the Bat who chose fear over hope and inspiration as a hero’s core, the Crooked Man brought a section of ceiling tumbling down towards him. But when Batman leapt out of the way, he was caught by a section of floor that shot up and speared into his shoulder.

The snarl of pain he let out sent a little chill down the Crooked Man’s spine. If that human got past his glass wall there was every chance he wouldn’t get stitched together again. He sounded less human than any of the others despite being one of the few perfect humans left within hero ranks. Fear was a strong motivator and the Crooked Man aimed to crush the man between two bits of wall.

It would have worked as well, had the lantern not made a large green block between the two sections of wall. It was incredibly difficult to shatter the construct, although the Crooked Man did try. When breaking the block wasn’t applicable, he chose to break the man.

The lantern was not nearly as fast as the Batman had been and it only took one sneaky blow from behind to throw him hurtling towards the ground. The Bat shouted something at him, something about concentration but it didn’t seem like the green lantern could hear past the very possible concussion he’d just received.

Momentarily distracted from the Bat, the Crooked Man raised his hand only to drag it back down and with the motion, pull down a large chunk of ceiling intending to crush the flying man first.

A ceiling collapsing towards a prone figure that couldn’t defend itself… He hesitated.

That momentary lapse of certainty cost him dearly and even once he’d shaken off the sudden feeling of unease to bring the debris falling at full speed again – it was too late.

Ultimately it did not matter, as the lantern’s prone form was jerked aside by a single black gloved hand. The bat was proving far more vigilant than the Crooked Man had guessed – perhaps he should have known better than to doubt the Gotham Knight just because he had human blood racing through his veins.

“Lantern.” The bat snarled lowly, giving him a small shake. “Focus, _keep_ talking.”

The Crooked Man bristled with anger, the lanterns words were what he sought to silence. It may have been that his haste to shut the man up had tipped Batman off – given him a potential weakness to exploit. He had been careless.

But it was the broken Flash that spoke first, voice hushed against the roar of the world ripping itself into pieces.

“No one came.” The Flash murmured, echoing the crooked man’s thoughts. “I can’t...I won’t get pulled into another game.”

“Barry.” The lantern was apparently not out of it enough to let that one slide. Heaving himself upright and shaking off his teammates hand, the lantern began to approach the glass wall again. “We came to get you.”

Barry tensed but didn’t look up. His arms curled tighter around the dead replica, as if it somehow meant something important. If they took note of the dead Flash, no one mentioned it – they were all fully focused on the living Flash.

The lantern moved again, lifted off the ground and floated towards the glass barrier. The Crooked Man attempted to halt his progression with more debris being fired towards the green lantern. This time his attacks were blocked by the lantern himself, the man was capable when not recovering from a blow to the head.

However his focus remained firmly fixed on Barry.

“Hey…” Green Lantern finally reached the glass wall, pressing his hand flat against it. “Barry, you listening to me? You gotta get up no buddy, we’re here now.” 

“I don’t want to hurt people.” That seemed to surprise the lantern. Barry spoke quietly, head bowed with his gaze firmly on the cooling body for his double. “You couldn’t understand…how terrifying it is. Knowing that no matter what I do, people will always get hurt. Knowing that I will have to hurt people to progress…” 

A brief silence followed but then much to both Barry and the Crooked Man’s surprise – the lantern laughed.

“Ha, sure I do.” Lantern smiled faintly and tapped what sounded like a song’s rhythm against the glass. It shuddered more violently than when he’s blasted it with the ring. “Bear, I know a thing or two about fear. But it’s never stopped you before.”

“I can’t protect anyone.” Barry murmured back, finally looking up at his friend with huge eyes. He must have looked a wreck to his allies. “I can’t move forward.”

“Flash.” Barry tensed when he was addressed by the Batman rather than his green light of a friend. Or perhaps he’d started because he’d been called the Flash – like it held some weight to it.

There was a pause and even the Crooked Man hesitated in attacking any further. Foolish surely, but the gap between the man’s words seemed to steal his breath and demand attention. It was as if the next words he spoke would be final – a verdict handed out.

They all knew that the bat could see the cold body clutched to Barry’s chest, the familiar face it wore. They all knew what the bat thought of killing – so what might he think of this. The Crooked Man had the most perverse sense of fear – fear not for himself but one that mirrored what he thought Barry would be feeling while he waited for the bat’s judgment. As if his own fear were sympathetic towards Barry’s.

More likely it was his fear, twisted from the days he still lived knowing that should the bat ever catch him – he _would_ be judged.

“You must keep moving forward – even if your steps are unsteady or you stumble. Trust that you’ll find your way.” Was what he said and then more quietly. “There are people waiting on you out here, Flash. You can’t afford to stand still now.”

Seeing the Flash’s eyes widen and the green lantern’s face brighten into a beaming grin, the Crooked Man’s insides turned to ice. Seemingly encouraged by Batman’s verdict, the lantern jumped up to speak again. A new found vigor in his voice. 

“Come on, Bear! You can’t just sit there and let this creeper get into your head.” He urged, throwing another swing of his construct hammer against the cracked glass, it gave a bit more and the Crooked Man flinched. “You’re the best there is, Bear – speed be damned – get off your rear and prove it!”

“But…” Barry murmured, looking uncertainly at the pair by the glass.

Hadn’t Hal left Earth just because he didn’t want to deal with Barry anymore? Didn’t Noire just want to get out of the house and never come back? Hadn’t he always disappointed his team, annoyed Batman? He swore that Hal had even told him that without his speed he couldn’t save anyone, but hadn’t that Hal also been wearing yellow. His head was aching just trying to make sense of it all.

Briefly Barry remembered being told something important; ‘there’s every chance he’ll be able to rework your own memories. You wouldn’t even know the difference – they become fact.’

Those crippling thoughts, they’d just been fears his head had let himself be convinced to be facts. Barry’s fingers began to unlatch from his dead replica.

The Crooked Man saw this and in a fit of panic, threw another last-ditch effort at the lantern. The pair had been so preoccupied with Barry that they very nearly ended up crushed between a large slab of the floor the Crooked Man had uprooted and thrown at them. It was the Bat that grabbed the both of them out of the way, dragging them to safety with his grappling hook. 

A horrible crash sounded through the decaying world when the slab connected with the fragile glass wall. More cracks appeared. 

They were losing ground, the world was collapsing in on itself and even without the Crooked Man throwing things their way, it was becoming a tight space to occupy. Green Lantern saw the next danger first as the ground gave away under them and the ceiling above came down. With nowhere left to run to, the lantern created a platform to keep them up when the ground gave in and a roof to shield them from the falling debris.

He gave a pained shout as the weight fell on his construct, the effort of keeping them up and stopping the world from falling in on them was a touch more than he could easily bear. The inky substance that Barry and the other world Batman had realized was dangerous to look at was beginning to show through the broken parts of the world.

In a matter of seconds Batman realized the danger and covered Hal’s eyes with his hand. The green construct shook slightly as his concentration wavered, Batman was speaking rapidly, explaining the danger but without their sight there was little the two could do to find an escape. 

And in the glass case, Barry sat. Batman’s words ringing through his head. 

Barry’s eyebrows knitted together after having heard Batman speak. That’s right, the Batman he’d met here – the one that lost so much and gave up even more just for him…that man was still expecting things from him as well. But that Batman had died no doubt, like all the others he met in this game; he’d failed them as well. 

But there was that phrase, running through his head over and over again.

“ _Do me a favour.”_

People were expecting things from him, relying on him. Barry had been left with their wishes and he was just _sitting_ there. The friends he still had, needed him, they’d come to find him and he was just _sitting_ there while they got hurt.

Enough was enough. 

Very slowly Barry’s fingers unlatched from the cooling body of his fake. The Crooked Man’s gaze narrowed in on the sight and what little of his face Barry could see beyond the dirty bandages, contorted furiously. Abandoning the replica on the ground as gently as he could, Barry eased back up to his feet and turned to face the Crooked Man.

His expression scared the coward.

“You lost! You can’t get back up.” Crooked Man snarled, flinging his arm outward and uprooting another piece of the floor, this time on their side of the wall, and flung it at Barry. It was a shock to the man’s system when the broken toy simply stepped aside and the slab of cement went flying past him harmlessly crashing into the far side of the glass box.

Terror began to trickle down the man’s spine when the speedless man took a step towards him. The toy had been thoroughly broken, he had been so sure that he’d never get back up again. Perhaps he made the mistake of thinking everyone was as breakable as himself – yet he also currently stood here.

Will was a strong motivator, a reason to keep pushing forward even more so. But having people? People that relied on you and in return helped you back onto your own two feet – that was a whole different kind of motivation.

It was an irrational fear that overtook the Crooked Man as he stumbled away from the standing hero. Very quickly he was pressed against the corner of his own glass wall, and looking for more of a distance still.

“Kid, do me a favour.” Barry recited something he’d heard in the game and a chill rushed down the Crooked Man’s spine, he knew this request. “You do me a favour, Red. Kill this bastard before Alois ever sees him.”

Beyond the glass wall, the Batman’s gaze narrowed on those words. They were not Barry’s, but they hit a cord with him. He understood where a request like that might have come from. Exactly how much had the Crooked Man shown Barry? Currently he couldn’t think about it too much, while Hal was struggling to keep the construct together without being able to see what was happening. ***

That was alright, Bruce placed his trust in Barry. They could hold out long enough. 

With his heart pounding frantically in his chest, the Crooked Man looked for some other type of escape. But the world was crumbling around him and beyond the glass there waited a different kind of horror. The one clad in black and wearing an ever-constant scowl. In his fumblings for some sort of escape, the Crooked Man’s legs failed him and he sank down to the floor in the corner of the glass cage. 

Still the Flash looked down at him and approached at the same steady pace. He had never quite seen the Flash move in this way, or wear this type of expression, in none of the memories he’d sifted through did this particular scene pop up. It was new, he had no game for it, and no plan in sight. The Crooked Man was left trembling.

“Mr. Allen, when a hero kills someone do you know what that does?” Barry echoed a different person’s tone as he took the final steps up to the cowering man. 

The Crooked Man had aimed to break a hero, make a man of him and then less of that. Had he not factored in what happened should he succeed? He made such a loud show and dance about killing and removing the title of hero – had he not thought far ahead enough to see what type of person he could make if he broke them? The fool.

Then the blonde was right in front of him, staring down at the shaken coward of a man. 

“Guilt and regret can be a powerful thing. Even the Crooked Man feels them.” Barry recited familiar words back to him and suddenly the man was crouched right in front of him, staring directly into his bandaged face. “ _Right_?”

When the Crooked Man couldn’t muster up the resolve to speak a single word in reply, Barry’s flat expression twisted a bit. It could have been a smile but it looked entirely too grim for that.

“This world is not a game.” Barry uttered, hardly raising his voice to match the Crooked Man’s previous shouting. “Those people were not toys. _These_ people aren’t.”

His control over the replicas had been haphazard at best. They’d retained too many memories, too much free will – ultimately they’d made poor dolls to occupy his dollhouse. He’d never expected them to become so sentient, to feel attachment to Barry Allen in the way they had. It had not been in his plan for them to feel so alive. 

But the Crooked Man had been given the ability to use them, a gift offered by a monster that made him from stitches and promises. He’d be just as foolish not to use them. He was more foolish to have listened to the monster at all; death should have taken him the first time.

Then much to the Crooked Man’s horror, the Flash looked away from him, towards the glass wall that was sporting many cracks across its surface. If he knew how the wall worked, if he understood how the Crooked Man maintained it or not he couldn’t say. But when the Flash reached out to place a single hand against its cracking surface and with a small shove, shatter it to pieces, it didn’t matter if he understood anymore. 

Shards of the glass wall he’d made scattered and crashed to the ground, creating pockets in the Crooked Man’s crumbling world where the real world could be seen under it. Barry’s house appeared wherever the glass landed and the moment the shinning splinters hit the murky outsides of the dollhouse, it began to dissolve.

Batman saw the opportunity immediately, and quickly clapped a hand on Lantern’s back. They still had to hold out till the void was properly gone but they were safe now. That in itself a relief. Before long the weight that had threatened to crush them and the abyss below all vanished away. Hal was free to collapse in exhaustion and Batman could finally uncover both his companion’s eyes. 

The Crooked Man could only sit there; mute as his world faded and melted away back into the world he’d left behind. The moon’s light flooded in and he cringed away from it, trying to cover his face desperately even though there was no possible way to keep the light out with his new sight. 

“Its over. You’ve won. Finish me now – before I kill someone.” 

As he sank to the floor, clutching desperately as his eyes, clawing at the bandages on his face. Barry remained over him, looking at the man that had tossed him through hell, and for what? His misguided sense of justice? His friends were safe now and the Crooked Man’s world was breaking apart at the seams, there was no danger here anymore.

“What’s wrong? Go on!” Crooked Man whispered as he curled in tighter on himself, waiting for death. Wishing for it. “Do it.”

He did not strike the Crooked Man.

Even when the lightening filled his veins, thriving and relieved to be alive in its host again. The speedforce pooled in his chest, a smug cat pleased to be at home once again. Even then the Flash did not raise a hand to the shaking man. Perhaps he should have, there were so many people he’d met along the way that would have done it, would have asked he do the same. But he was not yet that person. He was still Barry, the Flash – the person that all those people had put faith in. He couldn’t very well change that now.

Instead he opened his mouth and began a riddle of his own. 

When he spoke the riddle, the Crooked Man heard him and behind his clawing fingers, the Crooked Man’s eyes widened and began to spill painful tears. It was like a small secret being passed between them. The riddle came to an end with the final comment of “ _What am I?_ ” And despite how his eyes burnt, Crooked Man looked up at the Flash and Barry smiled.

“Think you can solve it?”

That was it. The Flash was still very much alive and the broken toy that he thought he’d made no longer existed. If it had ever existed he couldn’t be certain. The bright smile on the hero’s face forced more tears into the Crooked Man’s eyes.

He couldn’t understand. 

“Why are you sparing me? Can’t you see this is how the game is supposed to end? One of us has to die!” He shouted, anger and desperation forcing the words from his throat. But the Flash still did not strike him, instead he smiled stood and smiled that gut-wrenching smile of his. 

“I don’t understand, I can’t understand. Why are you being so kind to me?” With tears still streaming down his face as he stared up at the hero in horror.

Because he’d only just realized it properly, this man _was_ a hero.

Gritting his teeth, the Crooked Man bowed his head and screamed. The tears choking him as his fingers dug into the flawless ground, unable to find purchase in the final patches of his own world. All the while, the hero simply sat there and watched him with that same gentle expression. He hated that face, couldn’t stand to look at it as the sight left an aching feeling in his chest.

The memory of a far away smile pulling at the broken strands of his heart, suffocating what was left of him.

“You can’t save everyone. But don’t give up just yet. You’ll still save someone.” Barry murmured and the sobbing man’s went wide again. “Those words…were they his or yours?” The hero asked kindly and more tears began to flow freely down the broken man’s face as he sobbed the same word over and over again. 

“Why, why, why, why, _why_ …”

The last of his dollhouse was fading and all that was left behind was the small suburban house he’d found all those months ago. Through the windows the moon shone brightly, stars happily surrounding it as they gave light to the night. But it wasn’t the moon he’d known or the world he’d left behind the first time. Instead the Crooked Man woke up into an entirely different world.

One that felt warm and hopeful even at night. One he didn’t recognise.

“Barry!” The Flash turned when his name was shouted and before he could get so much as a word out, he was assaulted by Hal Jordan as the man practically tackled the alarmed speedster. “You sorry son of a--! Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me, Allen? _Never_ again.” 

And Barry laughed, hugging his friend in earnest.

“You look _so_ bad in yellow.” Was the first thing he said and Hal laughed as well. There would be time to tell his story later, but for now this was enough.

Behind the pair, Batman sighed tiredly and pressed the call button on his com. He believed that Clark would be more than happy to give them a hand transporting a villain into custody. He just hoped the blue Boy Scout kept his mouth shut about Bruce worrying over the kids.

It was unlikely.


	14. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lets finish this.

Everything happened exceedingly slowly after that. At least to Barry.

With the lightening back in his bones, there was nothing the speedster wanted than to go running but Batman insisted he get checked out at the med bay. Not a strange request considering the piss poor condition he came to them in.

But the speedforce was an efficient beast and the moment it had access to Barry’s battered and bruised body, it got to work patching him back together. Besides a few internal injuries and bone fractures, he was already looking as good as new within the first four hours. The time passed slowly and it might have been the longest night of Barry’s life – but he dared not try to sleep.

Not when he had Hal at his side at all times, demanding and questioning everything until Barry felt his voice going raw with just how much he had to say. Batman was there for the bear minimum, making himself scarce once he had enough information and Barry would have chased him up had he not been so occupied fending off Hal’s questions.

He knew that this aggressive display of concern was just Hal’s way of coping with stress and guilt. Barry had to reassure him quickly that he was perfectly alright. Except when he began to try, his throat closed up and his chest tightened. He was not alright and they knew it, so Hal – in a surprisingly mature effort – told Barry he could take his time. He’d stay and help him out until he was ready to speak honestly.

After that it was impossible to stop talking.

“Jesus, Bear.” Hal muttered after the story more or less ended. Some details left out but the overall idea given. “You should have said something.”

“What was I supposed to say? Hey Hal, come stop being a hero in space? It scares the hell out of me when you vanish?” Barry tossed Hal a bemused look to show he wasn’t trying to be bitter with the comment. “It just doesn’t work like that.”

The pair of them were still sitting in the med bay despite Barry’s hasty recovery. Hal had brought him a coffee, which usually would be cause for a joke about Barry not needing caffeine, but he definitely need it right now.

In the bed by the side of the two conversing heroes, Noire was fast asleep. Batman had reassured Barry quickly that Noire just needed to rest after having been exposed to some sort of magic the Crooked Man left for him. He added as an after thought that had he or Hal looked into the strange inky substance the Crooked Man built his world in – they might very well be in a condition similar to Noire’s. Barry remembered quite vividly how terrible he’d felt after he’d gotten caught staring into it himself. Of course he’d had a different Batman there to pull him through it.

Those Bats. Always there to give a helping hand – grumpiness be damned.

Barry couldn’t help but occasionally find himself staring at the sleeping kid. Hal must have noticed it as well but rather than toss out something teasing, the green lantern remained silent for the most part.

They’d swapped stories between one another, Hal telling Barry about the small nightmare that had been working with Batman and Black while Barry explained the game he’d played. At the end of it all, both came away feeling a little bit uneasy. Like they didn’t quite understand one another as well as they thought they first did.

Noire being anything but bitterly pleased with Barry being gone was a difficult concept in itself but if Barry really stopped to think about what he’d learnt. About Noire, about Bruce – about himself. Maybe it wasn’t so unusual.

The boy needed plenty of rest now; Barry didn't dare disturb him knowing that once he was awake they’d talk. Maybe they’d scream again, maybe that wasn’t the worst it could have been.

He’d wanted to protect Noire from the same fears and pains he’d experienced as a child but he’d unwittingly brought them all right to Noire’s doorstep. The man who killed his mother was alive and thanks to Batman – now spending some quality time at Arkham. They had briefly discussed moving him to Iron Heights; he had attacked Flash in Central City after all.

But Barry couldn’t refuse fast enough. The man was a native to Gotham and if he were to stay here…. Well Barry could practically feel Captain Cold’s gun training on him for it one day. 

Say what you would about a Rogue – they always looked out for their own.

Arkham hadn’t seen a reformed patient in its life as far as Barry knew, but maybe they could find something for the Crooked Man. Barry tried to hold out some hope that the man might at least never harm another person. Not before Batman was done examining what had happened to the man to make him what he was. 

How a seemingly human man had come to exist the way CM did, even Bats was lost for an immediate answer. Barry hadn’t found one in his travels either. His optional story content had been seriously lacking – last time he ever bought into DLC.

“How can you look so awake?” Hal asked eventually, sounding plenty tired in his own right. Barry didn’t _feel_ very energetic. Cooped up and bursting with the feel of the speedforce back in his veins – yes. But energetic? Not so much. He felt very much like he’d gone through the wringer.

So he laughed, a small disbelieving chuckle that seemed answer enough for Hal. “More coffee then I take it?” He mused with a small smirk on his face. Barry tossed him an exceedingly thankful expression. But when Hal stood to get it, Barry stopped him.

“Let me, need to stretch my legs a little.” Barry said as he eased his sore, sorry self out of the uncomfortable med bay chair. Only to pause and look over at Noire’s sleeping form. The kid looked a lot less angry when he was sleeping. Hal caught the glance.

“Go.” He said simply, still wearing that faintly taunting expression. “I’ll watch sleeping beauty. Won’t let him sleep walk outta here – promise.”

And Barry’s nerves relaxed. Trusting Hal to keep an eye on Noire without incident – if the boy was awake he’d be more concerned – Barry head out of the room in search of a coffee machine.

It felt good to be back on the base. Felt like a relief to be in a place that felt solid – real. No hundreds of disappointing doors or replicas waiting to hurt him in some way. Just Hal and a coffee machine.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Barry let out a heavy sigh. Equal parts relief and exhaustion. Sometimes he worried it would suddenly shift, worried that it was all an elaborate ploy from the Crooked Man on his final level to see what Barry might do when he thought he was safe again. 

He was still entertaining the thought when someone clapped him on the back, causing Barry to startle violently, very nearly smashing the coffee pot over the unannounced person’s head.

Only for his hand to be stopped at superspeed by a larger, unyielding hand – incidentally moving at the same speed. 

“Easy, easy.” A calming voice told him gently. “Just me, Flash.”

“Good god Supes.” Barry sighed, still jittery with anxiety. “You scared the hell out of me.” 

Superman smiled at him in that benevolent way of his.

“My apologies, you seemed distracted. I should have spoken up.” Barry was very thankful that Superman was fast or they’d be in need of a new coffee pot.

Not to worry, Batman probably had ten more stashed away somewhere. It always seemed like he had back ups of everything. God forbid they run out of anything in space. Barry had often idly wondered if Bruce would have an aneurysm should something like a lack of toilet paper actually better him. For the sake of their safety – Barry dared not try and see.

“How are you holding up?” Clark ventured and Barry wasn’t sure if he was sick of that yet – having people assess his mental state. He knew it would wear on him fast but Barry did appreciate it. 

“Well, worse things have happened to me.” He answered vaguely. It was true but hardly comforting.

Superman was rather giving with the way he simply smiled sympathy and did not push for a more in depth answer. He was more moral support while Bruce was more logic support. If Superman thought something had to be pried out of Barry he’d let Batman do it.

So maybe he wasn’t as generous as Barry gave him credit for. 

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something.” Barry said, turning to properly face Clark. 

“Oh?” Permission enough in Barry’s mind.

“Yeah, do you think Batman lies to us a lot?” Already he could see the discomfort setting in on Clark’s face. His usually smiling lips turned down slightly and there was a familiar furrow between his brows as they drew together.

Barry backtracked. 

“What I mean to say is – does it bother you? Like, I trust Bats – I do, seriously. With my life and all that. But sometimes he’s not very forthcoming, not open. Like…at all. I just-- Does it bother you? Should it bother you? I don’t know, sometimes I just wonder--”

“Barry.” Superman cut across his babbling smoothly, a gentle smile on his face again. The kind a mother might give to an anxious child to calm them. “You trust Bruce.” 

“I do.” Barry confirmed, a little disgruntled with the direction this was going. 

He knew that it was silly to doubt their teammate. They trusted him with their lives, their secret identities – pretty much everything. Superman had given him a chunk of kryptonite for god’s sake! Trust was very clearly not the problem. 

“Then you know you can just ask him.” That wasn’t exactly what Barry had expected Clark to say. “Bruce is stubborn. To the point of lunacy honestly. He’s also terribly self sacrificing and a touch paranoid.” When Clark said ‘a touch’ it sounded suspiciously like he meant ‘ _a lot’_.

“So sometimes he keeps secrets. I don’t think it’s malicious or because he doesn’t trust us – it’s his way to protect us. He is Batman after all, working alone and in the shadows – bearing the weight of the world? That’s sort of his MO. It’s just how he functions.”

Barry was once again struck by just how well Superman knew the Bat. By just how closely he regarded the man’s actions and feelings – Batman was no different. He and Superman knew one another practically inside out. Barry was always somewhat humbled – and admittedly a little unnerved – by that connection.

Again Superman smiled, laying a gentle pat on Barry’s shoulder.

“If you have something to ask him – do it. He’ll tell you, or at the very least he’ll tell you why he won’t. After that the rest comes down to bargaining.” Well they all knew that getting information out of Bruce wasn’t easy – no secret to that one.

Barry fell silent, looking downwards in thought. He remembered the Batman he’d met in the game. The story he told, about his world, about the Harlow brother’s mother. Barry wasn’t sure how much of it applied to their Bruce but if any of it did – was Batman really keeping it to himself?

He remembered the other Bruce’s downturned gaze, the softly spoken words and in the midst of chaos as the stage changed – an apology. The things he said to the fragment Lacie – the things he’d felt burdened by.

Yes – Barry decided – yes, his Bruce would be keeping it to himself. It would be hurting him and Bruce wouldn’t utter a word about it.

“Thanks Supes.” Barry smiled gratefully and Clark seemed to relived to have helped him find the answer he was looking for.

“Make sure to get some rest.” Clark advised, ever the mother hen. “There’s no harm in taking some time off. I’m sure Bruce would be more than happy to give you some off league time.” 

“Honestly I just want to get back into the swing of it.” Barry said, horrified by the thought of doing nothing for any stretch of time. But then he thought about Noire and Barry paused. “Maybe a day or two. Just to get my head straight.” He decided and Clark beamed – glad that Barry was taking his health into consideration. 

More than anything Barry just wanted to stay with familiar faces. If Hal was on planet and Noire was willing to be within the same house as him – Barry wanted to make the most of it.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” Clark told him just before the pair parted way. Barry with the pot of fresh coffee in hand and Clark towards what Barry guessed was the control room. He had an inkling that he was off to see the Bat. 

Barry would wait and give Bruce some space. It seemed he needed it right now as he agonized over how the Crooked Man came to exist without his knowledge. But he wouldn’t get too much space – Barry wasn’t going to let his secrets fester inside him. Bruce might not like being helped but Barry wasn’t going to give him the gosh darn choice. 

Smiling at the thought Barry head back to the med bay, only to catch the sound of conversation as he neared the door. Now Barry didn’t like to think of himself as a spy, but he did slow his steps, taking care to be a little quieter than before as he approached the room. He could hear Hal talking – but just Hal.

“Jesus kid.” He was saying, voice scratchy with exhaustion. He masked it a little better when talking to Barry. “Not sure what you’ll think when you get up. You’re probably going to swear up a storm – Barry never could teach you outta that potty mouth.” 

Hal chuckled and then fell silent for a few seconds. As if he was thinking about something and despite the uneasy feeling in Barry’s chest, he didn’t try to enter the room just yet. He was rewarded for his cautiousness.

“I…I’d understand if you want to kill him.” Hal confessed quietly. “I thought about it. Shouldn’t ‘av. I know. But…he had Barry. It must have been terrifying when you figured out it was the same guy that killed your mother, huh?”

Another pause, followed by a heaving sigh.

“I thought that he might kill Barry as well. If he had, you would have blamed yourself – like the stupid brat you always are. I know you blame yourself for what happened to Laice, I _know_ you do. But…shit, kid. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you I know what it feels like. You’d probably just hit me and scream a bit. But I get it. I wasn’t there that day, I should have been.”

“Just like I should have been here when Barry was in trouble. But where was I? Off planet – like always. I couldn’t even _look_ at you that day. Every time you looked at me I felt ashamed – because I wasn’t there to help Lacie. When I needed her she was always there, and I never even knew she was _dying_. God…” 

“Not you too!” Barry burst into the room, shouting before he’d fully formed the thought to do so. He got to see Hal practically leap out of his chair, lose his balance and come crashing to the ground.

Served him right! Barry tried to think vindictively but he did feel a touch bad about scaring Hal so bad.

“B-Bear.” Hal stammered – honest to god stammered as he stared at his angry best friend. “When did you…? How much did you hear of that?”

Barry scowled at Hal with all the accusation he could pack into one expression and Hal’s head dropped with a defeated sigh.

“I can explain?” He tried uncertainly and Barry had half a mind to throw the pot of coffee at him. Exactly how much had he been left out of? He was raising Noire for Pete’s sake and there were still secrets being kept from him? By Hal no less. 

Okay Batman he could understand – Batman was all brooding and secrets but Hal-frickin-Jordan? His best friend, whom he shared practically everything with? Now that was simply insulting.

“You better.” Barry threatened, holding the coffee pot up a little higher. “Or this is going all over your nice white shirt.” Hal wasn’t wearing his father’s flight jacket – Barry wouldn't threaten that, but his white shirt was fair game.

“Okay, okay. Jesus, just chill.” He did not and Hal sat up on the floor, not daring to go for his chair again. So there he stayed on the med bay floor like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Look, I know that you just found out that Bruce knew a bit more about the kid than you, but...--” Oh, so Hal knew what Bruce knew as well? Now Barry felt more than just left out, he felt conspired against. “Come on don’t look at me like that.” Hal pleaded before sighing a second time.

“There’s stuff he won’t share with me either. Stuff he _didn’t_ share with me.”

“Like what?” Barry asked, desperately trying to keep the bite in his voice. He never had been good at staying angry with Hal of all people.

“He knew she was dying.” Hal answered automatically, voice blunt and more than just a little bitter. “And he didn’t tell me a damn thing until after she was gone.” 

Some of Barry’s anger dissolved when he heard that. Mostly because he could see that Hal was genuinely wounded by this. Barry remembered that the person they were talking about was someone that, to Hal at least, had been dead for a year. Barry had seen her alive – in a sense – only hours ago. He sometimes forgot how it must feel for a person who had known her. 

So he put down the threat of coffee and stopped glaring at Hal. Instead he simply asked.

“How did you know her?”

Hal laughed and smiled in a faintly sad way. The sort of smile Barry thought was a memory of happier times. “I met her when I became a lantern. The same day in fact. She was…a friend.”

Without thinking Barry offered his hand out to Hal along with an expression he dearly hoped was one of understanding. Taking the outstretched hand Hal pulled himself to his feet with Barry’s help and much like they had when Barry needed to tell his story – the pair sat at the table and shared a cup of coffee. 

Barry didn’t speak much as he listened to Hal talk about how he met Lacie. He’d known her long before Noire or Alois had been born. He spoke fondly of how she’d just flown into his life – rather literally – and immediately started to cry when she saw him. He laughed at it now but at the time he’d been in a panic trying to figure out how to stop this strange flying girl from crying in his little apartment.

“I settled for hot chocolate.” He said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “She came flying right through the window and burst into tears – and gave her a hot chocolate. Before being a Green Lantern it was one of the most bizarre moments of my life.” 

“Why did she cry? And you know…bust through your window in the first place?” Hal shifted a little, looking a touch uncomfortable.

“It was my first day with the lantern ring. She’d seen the light – come to it expecting to find Abin Sur, the guy that had the ring before me. They were close apparently, and seeing me? Well…lanterns only really get passed over when someone dies. I was her ‘your friend is dead’ message in a sense. Not the best way to meet a person.”

When Hal explained it was a touch comedic but only because Hal tried to soften it with a hint of humor. The reality of the situation was rather grim, but Hal continued to say that Lacie quickly began to smile of him. Crying her eyes out and she still tried to smile. She’d left without giving her name.

“Didn’t see her again until the guardians hauled my ass to trail for being too headstrong.” Well that sounded like the Hal that Barry knew. “She showed up to…support me I guess? I was sorta her pride and joy – at least until the brats were born – the first earthling to inherit a green lantern ring. She was ecstatic, wanted to show off her chosen planet it seemed.”

Hal explained that Lacie had chosen earth when she was still young, thinking it to be fascinating and incredible. She liked humans – loved them in fact. She adored children most of all and had situated herself in an orphanage to keep them company.

“She believed in humans.” Hal mused with a small smile. “More than the guardians did. She pleaded humanity's case to them numerous times. We were a young species with potential she said.” 

After all Lacie had been the last of her kind – they were gone now. So she’d adopted a species to live with once she was old enough to leave those that had raised her. Once the guardians were willing to let the last spectral child live on such an uncivilized hostile planet alone. Apparently it took years to get them to agree – she was rather persistent.

Barry listened to Hal’s stories. Listened to him harp on about how Lacie had the worst habit of just showing up out of thin air and following him around. Sometimes she’d pester him but he could never figure out if she did it to be malicious or not. He talked about how they’d fought together on occasion, even admired how well she could fight. She was a pacifist at heart but boy could the girl deliver a nasty blow when the situation called for it.

Then as all stories do, hers ended and Hal’s smile faded.

“She never told me she was dying.” He admitted quietly. “Apparently it was a secret reserved for herself and Spooky. Although I’m sure the guardians knew. I don’t know if she was afraid to tell me or if she just wanted to protect me.”

“Last time I saw her alive…I was so busy. Sinestro had invited me to see his home for the first time – what a wonderful trip _that_ turned out to be – and I was still just learning how to be a lantern. I hardly noticed how frail she looked because she smiled so brightly. She glowed – literally – when talking about her two boys, promised me that I’d meet them one day. I didn’t – not until she died. How was I supposed to look at her son knowing the things I did?”

“You never told me this, Hal. Why? Why didn’t you tell _Noire_ about this?” Barry wondered, still confused as to how this had never been spoken about. 

“Batman found me.” Hal replied wearily. “Told me what he knew, not that it helped now. I punched him so hard I thought my fist would break – and he let me. He wasn’t sorry. He’s never sorry.”

The urge to defend Bruce rose up in Barry. He still remembered how he’d looked at the fragment Laice, how he’d spoken. He was sorry, maybe not for keeping her secret, but for letting her die. But Barry knew Hal probably understood this – it was just grief talking. He’d lost a friend.

“Told me to keep what I knew a secret. I argued with him but…”

“But?” Barry prompted but he was fairly sure he knew the answer to that. 

“But, Lacie had made him swear not to tell.” Hal admitted, sitting back in his seat with a small groan of frustration. “Her boys didn’t know about what she was or why she was dying. Lacie didn’t want to tell them. How could a mother tell her children that she was dying just because they existed? No, no way. That’s not what she wanted – so I kept my trap shut.” 

“I didn’t expect the kid to take such a violent disliking to me.” He added in a lighter tone, tossing a small glance towards Noire and Barry laughed.

“I don’t know if its that bad.”

“He tried to _bite_ me, Barry.”

“That was only one time. He still didn’t even know what kiddo meant yet – he thought you were insulting him.” Barry tried to reason but his laughter was bubbling over making the words difficult to understand.

“He would have taken my hand off!” Hal argued, tossing his arms up in exasperation. “I was just trying to ruffle his hair for god’s sake! Your boy has no chill.”

Barry laughing quieted down and he looked over at Noire as well. “My boy… Do you think she would be upset with how I’m raising him?”

“On the contrary, Bear.” Hal answered smoothly, grabbing his cup of coffee as he spoke. “I don’t think she could have been prouder.”

Barry’s face warmed into a smile and he also grabbed his cup. “Hal? No more secrets, okay?” 

That would be enough. It would be more than enough to wash away the lies of the Crooked Man’s games. The doubts and fears he harbored. To be with his friends and family without the fear of secrets between them. Being able to spend his time joking and smiling with them without that uncertainty. Just that was enough.

Without missing a beat Hal answered. “No more secrets.”  
Just that was enough.

 

…  
…

 

Evidently Hal really was exhausted, far more than he let on. It wasn’t long before Barry was dropping the sleeping man’s jacket over his shoulders while debating if he should tease Hal for drooling on the table or not when he woke up.

Deciding it was perfectly good teasing material Barry tucked the though away for another time.

They’d talked for another hour, less heavy topics coming and going as they began to laugh and throw taunts more freely. Like they ought to. However they eventually fell into a comfortable silence, just letting the normalcy of each other’s company comfort them. Somewhere in that silence Hal had started to nod off and Barry had let him – knowing Hal would stubbornly fight sleep to try and keep him company.

There was no need, just having Hal on Earth felt like enough. 

He must have been asleep for maybe half an hour when Barry heard the rustling of hospital bed blankets. Jerking his head up, instantly alert he caught sight of Noire beginning to shift groggily in bed. At first he thought Noire might be having a nightmare or be in pain because he was making small sounds of discomfort. It wasn’t until he heard a definite sob that Barry leapt out of his seat to Noire’s bedside. 

“Hey, hey.” He murmured, trying to sooth whatever it was that was bothering Noire. Pain could be chased away by painkillers, a nightmare could be ended if Barry woke Noire – whatever he needed Barry was willing to give. “Hey, kid. It’s all okay.” 

It was as if Noire didn’t know where he was when his eyes began to crack open. The small boy was curled tightly on his side, clearly in discomfort as sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead. Then slowly, blearily, he turned his head to look up at Barry. Those red eyes looked much worse when the whites of Noire’s eyes were also blood shot. But they did not unnerve Barry like he remembered in the nightmares he had in the Crooked Man’s games. 

Instead he simply felt concern, the same concern he was sure any guardian would feel when seeing the child in their care in some sort of trouble. Barry knew Noire didn't like to be thought of as a child – but Barry had raised him for the small time he’d been without Lacie. He knew it was greedy of him to feel he was a proper foster parent after only a year but if he put clothes on Noire’s back and food in front of him – he was a parent damn it!

He felt more at ease feeling that now, with what he supposed was Lacie’s blessing. Noire needed a father and Barry could give him that.

“B…arry?” Noire croaked, voice thick with sleep. 

“Right here, buddy.” He answered immediately, even going so far as to brush back Noire’s hair. The boy’s red eyes slowly clearly, still looking a bit dazed but at least more in the moment.

“Barry.” He said more firmly, voice becoming more urgent – feverish even. Then he was reaching out of the sheets with shaky hands, faster than Barry had anticipated, just to grab him. Noire was clutching him like he had to make sure that Barry was really there, really alive. When he found Barry was firm beneath his trembling fingers, the boy let out a choked sob and buried his face into Barry’s chest – alarming the speedster.

“Barry, Barry, Barry.” Noire chanted his name repeatedly, as honest to god tears began to leak from his eyes, staining Barry’s shirt. “I’m sorry.” He hiccupped, fingers clenching tighter around fistfuls of Barry’s sleeve. “I’m so, s-so sorry.” 

He continued to cry and it took Barry a few more seconds to catch up with what was happening. Then his arms were around Noire, hugging him as he cried out into Barry’s chest.

Very soon Noire was babbling, almost incoherent with his sobbing. Barry could catch small parts of what he was saying. Things about thinking he’d never seen Barry again. About losing him like he lost his mother.

About not being fast enough.

“Noire.” Barry spoke gently; keeping his voice as level as was possible while his child cried himself hoarse in his arms. “Did I ever tell you about when I was a boy?”

Noire was tense in his arms but slowly shook his head, still refusing to move an inch away form Barry. This was both the closest and most open Noire had been with him since the day they met. He had cried then as well, sobbing that he had let his mother die, that it was his fault. Now he was feeling all that again – Barry remembered Noire accusing him of being perfect and loved by everyone.

He had put Noire in the position of giving all his insecurities and fears but giving none of his own in return. That had to change tonight.

“When I was a boy.” Barry began calmly. “My mother was killed.” 

He felt Noire tense up in his arms and then he was met with large, red, tear filled eyes that shone with more confusion than sadness. So he continued.

“It was her birthday, I was running home to give her a card and share some cake with her. But by the time I got there, she’d already been killed and the police were blaming my father. I was too slow that day.” Noire didn’t say a thing, barely even cried anymore save for the odd sniffle that he was obviously trying to keep quiet – Barry had his utmost attention.

“I lost my mother, but I could save my father. So I joined the police force to try and clear his name. However before I could – my father died. I was too slow again. It wasn’t long after that the Flash was born and I thought that I would _never_ be too slow _ever_ again.” Noire wasn’t shaking anymore in his arms but his grip on Barry’s sleeves hadn’t lightened up at all.

“It took me a long, long time to come to terms with what happened. I spent my life hating myself for being slow, living in fear of failing to save someone again.” 

Some part of Noire must have violently disagreed with this notion because he buried his face back into Barry’s shirt and shook his head in denial. That was fine, Barry wasn’t finished just yet.

“But I realized something. My mother and my father – neither of them blamed me. Neither of them would want me to blame myself and they both loved me with all their heart. Your mother loved you…loves you more deeply than anyone else, Noire. You didn’t let her down. It’s not that we weren’t fast enough; they wouldn’t want us to die in their place. It might take some time but you’ll understand eventually and until then – I’ll be right here. So you never have to feel scared or alone again, okay?”

Noire was crying again and Barry quietly murmured words of comfort. Telling him it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t have to be afraid – whatever thought crossed his mind. Whatever he remembered wanting to be told when he was still a child aching over the loss of his parents. 

“I…” Noire whispered, voice choked with tears and barely coherent. “I love you.”

And Barry’s chest bloomed with warmth, his arms circling tighter around Noire’s balled up form. The irrational fears he’d had of being hated by the boy he raised vanished and were replaced with a sort of happiness he couldn’t quite name. He almost felt guilty for having this parental feeling when Noire wasn’t really his.

He didn’t quite know what to say to that, as an uncontrollable happy laugh bubbled up in his throat. “I love you too, kiddo.” He finally answered, hugging Noire close. There was nothing else to say really.

Noire didn't speak for a while and only curled tighter in Barry’s arms. He was still crying but it was softer now, calming down as Barry stroked mindless patterns into the boy’s back.

Then after a very long time Noire spoke again, voice quite and filled with trepidation.

“Did you ever…find the person that did it?” He asked softly, not raising his head from Barry’s shirt. “Did you ever want to kill them?”

This too was familiar and understandable. So Barry answered as honestly as he possibly could. “Yes. I wanted to kill him. For years I wanted to kill him then one day I met him. At first I didn’t know he was the man that had killed her, but he was already a criminal – hurting people. Hurting _me_. The man in yellow – Eobard Thawne – spent every waking moment trying to hurt me more. I’ve never been more hated, or hated anyone more in return than I did him and he me.” 

He thought of the replica Eobard, the smug way he’d asked Barry if he’d ruined his life. He hadn’t answered the fake then but Eobard seemed to think that was answer enough. But in truth the answer was no. 

Eobard hurt him more than any other living person ever had. Pushing him to breaking points, stolen everything he possibly could from Barry without ruining the timeline – but no. He had not ruined his life. Because here he was. With friends and family. He had Hal, Bruce – even Noire. He had Iris who he loved dearly and in return loved him. He had a future that seemed to suggest he’d marry her – a bright hopeful future. He had hope, he had happiness. His life was not ruined.

At the end of the day he still came out a happier person than he thought Thawne had ever been. Maybe that could be payback enough.

Perhaps he should have told the replica exactly that. Just to see what he thought of it.

“But you didn’t kill him.” Noire murmured, confused.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

He couldn’t immediately answer that but Barry knew he had to try. “Revenge isn’t the right way to go. If you spend all that time devoting yourself to it – once you’ve gotten it. There’ll be nothing left of you.”

Eobard was certainly an example of that. He didn’t live for any other reason than his hatred and need for revenge. That was all he had, if he one day finally did kill Barry or somehow sate his rage – there wouldn’t be anything left inside of him. No other goals, hopes. Not even a hobby – just a void where his anger used to be.

Imagining that for himself, hunting after Thawne until he destroyed himself just for revenge sent a shiver down his spine. Imagining it for Noire made him hug the boy closer.

He wanted better for them both. He knew their parents would want more than that for them as well.

“No love, no ambition – nothing.” Barry murmured quietly into Noire’s hair. He knew this better than most people; maybe only Bruce understood the dangers of revenge more intimately than himself. “No one is worth that, no one is worth you. _You’re_ worth more than that.”

“I want to kill him.” Noire moaned pathetically. “I want to kill him so bad it hurts.”

“I know.” Barry shushed him, trying to calm him before the quiet crying could become full blow sobs again.

“I thought he was going to kill you. I thought you were _gone_.” Noire continued, at least not becoming anymore upset. Although he did continue to speak quickly, almost as if he was afraid the words would leave him if he stopped. “But...but if you can do it, I can try to as well. You always kept running when everything else stood still around you and I…I admired that more than anything.”

Barry had violently misjudged Noire’s feelings towards him. Admittedly Noire wasn’t very open about them and was hostile at practically every turn. To hear him speak so highly of him, well it made Barry feel foolish for ever having thought the things he did in the Crooked Man’s game.

“So…if you can not kill the man in yellow – I can try not to kill that crooked human either.”

A small swell of pride rose up in Barry’s chest and he gave Noire’s hair a small ruffle, coaxing a noise of complaint out of the boy.

“Whatever you decide to do.” Barry told him gently. “I’ll support you. In any way I can.”

Noire didn’t speak again after that, remaining huddled in Barry’s arms until his breathing evened out and the crying stopped. Barry was only able to get a good look at Noire’s face when the boy had nodded off. His face was covered in the dirt like smudges he usually kept hidden to appear more human; they must have come out while he was unable to control himself.

Among the dark blotches of his real skin there were patches of red and dried trails from where he’d been crying. But once again he was sleeping peacefully and Barry smiled. There was still going to be issues raising Noire he knew but this seemed like a step forward. 

Before long he was nodding off as well and this time he didn't fight sleep when it came to take him.

 

…  
…

 

All three of them were out like a light by the time Batman came to the med bay. Anticipating arguments from Hal, bitterness from Noire and demands for answers from Barry. Instead he looked in at the three all in their respective sleeping position. 

It wasn’t often that Batman was left so stumped. 

He’d practically driven himself up the wall looking for information on what had happened to the Crooked Man to make him what he was. He’d brushed off Clark’s attempts to pull him away from his work until the man practically demanded he take a break and see to the three he’d brought back to the base.

As always Clark was putting people before progress. It frustrated Bruce to no end but when Clark suggested he was hiding from the trio – his pride demanded he prove the man of steel wrong. Even if every step he took towards the med bay became heavier, dragging on his nerves.

Arriving to see the three potential headaches asleep and seemingly content – well it was a bit of a shock to his system. So much so that he almost missed Clark sliding up next to him silently.

“You worry too much.” Clark told him quietly, so as not to disturb the children.

“I told you that I do not make a habit of worring.” Bruce growled back lowly, still observing the passed out trio. He didn’t miss the way Noire was still clutching Barry tightly in his sleep. He must have been terrified that he’d never see Barry again to apologize. This would be a good thing for the boy, knowing that he wouldn’t lose everyone – even if the man from his nightmares appeared. It was an important lesson to learn.

“You did.” Clark hummed in agreement, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “You can see that they’re alright. You don’t give them enough credit, Bruce.” 

Not bothering to repeat himself, Bruce simply made a sound of agitation. He didn’t have to look to know that Clark was still smiling that infuriatingly fond smile of his. 

Admittedly he had expected something a little less calm than this. Something with more shouting or crying. He knew he must have missed a bit of that already for it to get to this point – nothing he couldn’t look up later to check. But they were all here in one piece. 

They were all safe.

Without realizing it, Bruce let out a small sigh of relief. Just knowing they were all alive and together – that was enough.

He knew that eventually they’d have to talk. He had to make sure that Barry was in the right headspace, had to see how much he knew – how much he had to tell in return. Clark didn’t say anything but Bruce knew Barry was uncertain about his secrets. It wasn’t hard to notice, that might have been why he buried himself in studying the Crooked Man rather than staying close to Barry.

Bruce wasn’t afraid – but…he didn’t exactly want to have that conversation either.

“Everything will be fine.” Clark told him softly and Bruce frowned. Trust Clark to know exactly what he needed to hear but didn’t want to hear at all. “They’re safe.”

“As much as they can be.” He answered flatly. It was almost an agreement and Clark took what he could get.

Bruce had checked back on Alois, naturally he was gone. Having recovered hours before Noire even began to stir. He’d vanished after that but Bruce knew he wouldn’t go far. He’d be back at that little nest he found him in – Alois wouldn’t flee it even after Batman came to visit him.

Strange as it was, Alois seemed to trust him and Bruce understood the child enough to know he wouldn’t do anything dangerous towards the public. Noire and Alois had to work through their family argument – Bruce simply kept it between just them. Civilians were where the line was drawn.

If Alois had been the culprit behind those murders he would’ve had to deal with the bat first. But as it was the murders had simply been the Crooked Man kicking up conflict between the brothers, dragging Alois out of hiding. It had not worked in his favour ultimately, instead it got Alois on his trail and ended up unlocking the door he’d sealed Barry behind. 

Bruce wondered if the Crooked Man had any hope in Arkham. Unlike many of the crazies that got locked away in that place – he was at the very least not malicious by nature.

“Creating superheroes…” Bruce muttered, catching Clark by surprise.

“The Crooked Man’s ideology?” He guessed uncertainly. “What do you think of it?” 

“He’s crazy.” Bruce answered without hesitation.

“Obviously.” Clark replied with a dry tone that almost brought a smile onto Bruce’s face. A tone like that wasn’t one the public associated with Superman so Bruce took some amusement from hearing it. That was very much a Clark voice. “But you deal with crazies all the time – so tell me what you think.”

Bruce shifted his weight from one foot to another, picking his words carefully. “He’s desperate.” Bruce answered slowly. “He believed that to create a hero they must suffer great loss. Understandable.” 

Glancing at the three sleeping bodies, Bruce mentally went through the tragedies they’d faced. Then his own and then Clark’s. They all lost something, they all struggled with some form of grief. 

“But that’s not what makes a hero.” He continued firmly. “It’s not what happens to us, it’s what we choose to do with what we have. The same person can do the most terrible or wonderful things. Regardless of what life has handed them – it’s all about choice.”

“His choice was to let fear rule his actions, to let his weakness decide his actions.” Bruce remembered clearly the ramblings of the insane man. The world needed heroes he said, if he couldn’t be a hero he could be a villain to force their creation. That was his mentality. 

Because the Crooked Man did not hate heroes – he adored them. He needed them, they were the small sliver of hope he had in the world. To him they were the most incredible people alive. Bruce knew this not from his new existence as the patched together creature but from what he knew of the boy he had been.

Before the games, before the accident that took his life. Before he’d even pulled the trigger on his parents and left them dying in their family manor. Long before that he’d watched the television and idolized heroes. Thinking maybe one could save him. 

If he couldn’t be strong enough to be a hero, he would just have to make someone else a hero. He’d chosen Noire and Alois.

Bruce still didn’t know if he’d intended to kill Lacie that night at the abandoned building. The plan most definitely called for loss, for death or at the very least a fight. But would he actually have pulled the trigger? It was unlikely – after all he was a coward and Lacie had smiled at him.

His parents might have greeted him with a fist, but she had given him kindness. That gun must have felt incredibly heavy in his hands. Maybe if he had been a little more careful with the set up of the explosives, or a little more experienced. Less hasty and shaky with his plans – no one would have died that night. 

There was hardly any point dwelling on what might have been. What they had now was an echo of the kid he’d been. Admiration became obsession and now nothing but the perfect hero would make the cut. Maybe Arkham could salvage him, find the piece of him that wanted so badly to help make a better world and show him a better way. 

One could only hope.

Clark was smiling at him again. That expression that made Bruce uneasy, like Clark was placing all the faith in the world on his shoulders. As if Clark trusted him more than he trusted himself.

It was a smile that made him feel vulnerable. Knowing that there was someone who was able to put that much belief into him left Bruce terrified he’d break it.

He had not forgotten Barry’s tale of the other him and the replica superman. The kryptonite and choice he’d made. Bruce had agonized over what he’d been told about his alternate self. Maybe it was foolish to do so – technically he was not that Batman and that Superman did not exist in this world. But still it bothered him – made the pocket on his belt that contained kryptonite heavier. 

Because Clark could smile at him like there was never any doubt and that in turn bred doubt in his mind.

“Bruce.” Clark spoke his name firmly, as if he’d picked up on the things flying through his head. Maybe he could, Clark did seem infuriatingly attentive at times. “We’re safe.” The words had shifted a little and they were spoken like a promise, a fierce reminder. 

“You kept them safe.” He added, going so far as to pat Bruce on the shoulder, contact that usually would have been brushed off with an annoyed growl. “Like you said, it’s all about choice.”

That was true. They’d all made choices that lead them here. Clark continued to choose to believe in him. The alternate him had chosen to protect Barry from killing and now Bruce had a decision of his own. 

Glancing from Clark back to his sleeping friends, Bruce very nearly let out a sigh.

“If it’s a choice between you idiots and a good night sleep – you had better hope I don’t sleep.” Bruce growled as he walked into the med bay, tossing a blanket over Noire and Barry haphazardly. He pretended not to see when Clark adjusted it to better cover the pair.

He also pretended not to see the knowing way Clark looked at him. Growl all he wanted – Clark knew better.

Bruce would always choose to do what was right. No one questioned that, however Clark knew with certainty that Bruce would _always_ choose them over himself. It was like Clark had told Barry – Bruce was terribly self-sacrificing.

So as Bruce settled himself in to check over basic vitals and double check medical reports he knew were accurate and showed no problems – Clark settled down on the seat across from him and made offers of coffee. He laughed when Bruce told him to do what he wanted, knowing that was as good as a yes.

This was fine. Any doubts they had, any fears that were still lingering just under the surface – everything that they might be worried about – all of it would be dealt with. Everything would be alright because they were surrounded by the people that they cared about and in return they were cared for.

Down the line they’d no doubt have to work through greater threats and tests, but Clark wasn’t worried about those either. So long as they worked together and didn’t doubt one another – they’d get through it. Just like always. 

Barry would heal and grow from his experience and even though he didn’t exactly know it – he’d prompted some growth in those around him. Now they only had to look out for one another and continue to make the right choices.

Clark had faith in them all. So he smiled without trouble and placed his trust into each of his teammates.

Yes – this was fine.  
They’d be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Except they weren't fine because the writer immediately posted the first chapter of Superman and Batman's story after this was finished.  
> It's your turn now. Good luck boys.  
>   
> Also can we just talk about how Barry 100% misunderstood Noire when he dropped the 'I love you' bomb?  
> Like god damn it Barry, not what he meant - get outta here with your fatherly, non-romantic bullshit.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like come chat to me, heres my tumblr. http://malice-and-macarons.tumblr.com/


End file.
